


Game of Thrones Season 8 AU

by Archimedes7



Series: Game of Thrones AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jon Snow is like book!Jon in this story aka more impulsive, Multi, and he actually has a personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archimedes7/pseuds/Archimedes7
Summary: Picks up in 8x05 after the battle between the Golden Company and Daenerys. Rather than taking the unexplainable turn she took, Daenerys will retain her complexity as a human and make a decision that will change the ending of the series as we know it and will carry on into how the world of Planetos develops after the wars of Ice and Fire. MultiPOV
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: Game of Thrones AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008354
Comments: 48
Kudos: 77





	1. Daenerys I

Daenerys

I

Since she was a girl, Daenerys often found that in moments like this, she experienced what she felt was like mental suffocation. She took in her victory before her; the Iron Fleet was burned, the Lannisters had laid down their arms, and the Golden Company was gone. Drogon's roars pierced her ears as did the clanging of the bells. She shifted uncomfortably in the newly made saddle across Drogon's back.

_Clang_

She could not think with all of the noises, with everything before her that she could see and all she had to contemplate. Her mind was growing more suffocated by the moment as the people of King's Landing began to shout their surrender. A throbbing formed behind Dany's right eye and she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and lowering her head. She could taste ash in her mouth and something else. Blood, perha-

_Clang_

The throbbing peaked with the sound of the bell and seemed to fall with it as well, though the pain was there all the same. Her thoughts being interrupted only further suffocated her mind and when she opened her eyes, she had to blink several times though she saw the Red Keep. Turned a pale red by centuries of sunlight, not many changes had been made to it, it was apparent. Though there was one that was impossible to not notice: where once the the three-headed dragon of her house and perhaps even the seven-pointed star after was replaced with a lion all along the castle and in the windo-

_Clang_

A tear fell from her eye as the pain intensified again. It was not only the head pain that was affecting her, but the emotional pain of losing two of her children, having to watch them die before her and her Viserion, how she had to see him come back and face against her. The deaths of Jorah, Missandei, her good men, Barristan, Viserys, and Rhaego weighed on her, as did the betrayal of Jon, or should she call him Aegon now? Another tear fell and then another and she was sobbing on Drogon's back like a girl. She could hardly think, only feel everything as it came upon her.

_Clang_

She could not take it any more and with great difficulty, lifted off with Drogon. Her goal was clear: The Red Keep. She would torch the walls surrounding it and if Cersei still refused to surrender herself, then perhaps the castle itself must burn. Many screamed as she flew overhead and she realized that for the second time, she was flying over the city her ancestors had built. The rubbled-covered ruins of Baelor's sept remained on Visenya's Hill. The Dragonpit was in similar condition. And now Cersei thought to occupy their last vestige aside from Dragonstone. Drogon roared, feeling his mother's rage. The clouds were begin to come in from the west though were still far off in the distance and the clear skies gave her more and more of a view of the city as she flew overhead. The tears fell more freely now, seeing everything that had been taken from her. Everything she had endured to get to here when she should have been allowed to just be a girl.

And then Drogon let loose his fires upon the walls. They strafed the outer wall and watched them turn to rubble, she felt the fire burning in her chest, she felt like an avenging dragon. They dipped lower, Dany feeling in sync with Drogon as their movements were fluid and Drogon's flames shattered the roof of what she imagined to be the throne room. She moved a bit further out, down Aegon's hill and to the Dragonpit where she shouted ' _Dracarys_ ' and watched the flames billow over the stones of the ruin. Though as she turned back toward the Red Keep, her and Drogon going higher in the sky and away from where they came, there was no indication that Cersei was surrendering. She turned to the right and saw a stream of people evacuating from the city, some far away, many still making it out of the gates, and an eerie feeling creeped upon her. It felt as though an hour had passed between the moment this feeling crept upon her and the moment she heard the loud noise behind her though it must have been only a fraction of a moment. The wind whipped on her face and for that moment before she turned her head, she just saw the sun shining so brightly down on the world as though everything was normal. And then she heard a string of sounds after the first noise that could only have been explosions. And then a second string, louder, to the right of that, erupted from the ground in green clouds of flame and smoke that shattered the ground and razed all that it burst through.

_Wildfire_

Time slowed down around her. Her head had hardly completely turned to look before the green holocaust came into the corner of her eyesight. Before anymore could be seen, a blinding light pulsed from the explosion in sync with the shockwave of pure force that rippled out from it. The explosion had left her ears ringing and soon, there was no sound. The ashes surrounded her, falling from the sky, along with some debris from the initial two explosions. She thought to herself that she dare not look down at what was surely an atrocity beneath her. The wave hit her and Drogon hard. A pure force of nature, completely invisible that was able to throw her son as large as he was completely off his path of flight. They began to veer off in an unknown direction while green flame, ash, smoke, and pure hell rained down around her and Drogon.

She did not recognize the room that she woke up in. The only thing familiar was her head's ache. Though it was worse now. As she looked around a bit, the room looked just slightly familiar, as though maybe this was not the first time she had woken up and looked around. She allowed herself to lay there for a bit and listen to Drogon's wings flapping overhead. It brought her a certain comfort to know that her son was alright.

The walls appeared to be made from some type of cut stone, sectioned off to make the appearance of apartments. The windows were set with stained glass though of what she did not know as the glass had been shattered, and only certain purple, blue, and red pieces clung to the stone here and there. This certainly was no castle, not that she was complaining, her and Viserys had lived in far worse as children. She hoped some piece of the Red Keep remained. She yearned for a piece of her ancestors and family. She allowed herself a moment to cry for everything that had happened before reaching her weak arm up, shaking, and wiped them.

_If I look back, I am lost._

She pressed the palms of her hands on either side of her and began to push up a bit in the bed she was resting in, getting herself upright. She wasn't sure how long she had slept for but it had been long enough that movement was difficult for her, and painful at that. Her throat was dry and when she spoke it came out nothing more than a harsh whisper. So she clapped her hands as loudly as she could several times before Grey Worm himself opened the door.

"Torgo Nudho." She smiled at who was probably the only person she trusted now.

"My Queen." He said, in High Valyrian, as he strode across the room in only a few strides and gave her a hug, full on the shoulders. She had never seen the man break his stern commanding facade. She knew then that he had worried for her life. He stood up and straightened himself, looking at her with watery eyes.

"How long has it been since the battle?" The words were scratchy, though he understood her. "Where are we?"

"Your hand told us that this was once the home of a septing?" He looked confused but proceeded. "You have slept for only three days my queen. The old man feared for your health, and for your babies."

She felt as though she could pass back out immediately as her head began to swirl again. How could she not have known? She hadn't felt this way since she first arrived in Vaes Dothrak, she should have known. She had been riding and fighting, and _the blast_. What if they were gone?

"I'm pregnant." Somehow there was _good_ news in all of this, something to live for. "What has happened, has anyone died?"

"You need to rest, my queen. I will get the old man." And with that, he left.

She was the Queen, though now they cared more for her safety than her authority. This was one of the aspects of royalty she did not consider. Soon, an old man came shuffling in, a bit short and wizened in the face.

"Maester Melwys, your grace." He bowed deeply, though appeared to be staring at her while doing so. "I was called upon from Rosby to attend to you. I am well experienced in women and childbirth."

"I am far from childbirth, Maester, so your words will be needed, not your fingers." She spoke harshly to establish the boundary for this man who looked at her body with wide eyes as he licked his lips feverishly almost as though it was some unconscious habit. "What has happened in this city in these past few days? What is the state of it, has there been an accounting of the dead? Has anyone arrived, are councils being convened, have they decided to crown me or is it still up for debate?"

The slew of questions appeared to take the man off guard though he took a breath and began to explain to her. The wildfire had been stashed by Cersei throughout the city well before this it was though by Tyrion, and the explosions destroyed over three quarters of the city, including the Hill of Rhaenys, Visenya's Hill and part of the Red Keep. The only part of the city that remained was the Red Keep and the Northwestern corner near the Gate of the Gods and about a mile along the North wall was still fine. Though the Red Keep was mostly fine save for a few towers being destroyed, part of the throne room, and some of Maegor's Holdfast received damage, it appeared to be okay. Aegon's high hill however was a heap of debris and rubble, destroyed homes and ruined piece of the walls that had fallen down the hill. It would likely take a moon or so to clear it all out and restore the stairway enough for the forces to get up into the castle. They have accounted for some of the dead: nearly all of her Unsullied, remaining Dothraki, and most of the Northern forces that had allied with her are gone. They have declared no King or Queen as of yet and are yearning to retreat to Dragonstone for a more secure stronghold and because of that, have not sent word or summons to anyone, save for Sansa.

The maester, who she later learned was a bastard of Walder Frey, was ordered out of the room by her and to find Lord Tyrion, though she was fast asleep before he returned. They say that another two days had passed before she awoke this time, and how she needed it. Though she dreamt of an oasis. Drogon was there, though he was as small as he had been during their time they spent marching to Meereen. At his feet were three eggs that he was appearing to nurture lovingly. At the center of this was a pond that a small brook opened up into, making a small waterfall. She saw a trout swimming around with a single small trout swimming alongside it and several seahorses, oddly enough, were dancing in the waters. There was a falcon on the tree that stood to the left of the brook and at the base of the tree were grapevines, oddly enough.

Daenerys could tell she was dreaming as she saw the sun ripple in colors of red and orange and yellow and a beam of light erupted from both ends as though it was piercing the sun itself. A star bled across the sky, though it was not red as the Shierak Qiya she had followed to Qarth, it was a striking pale purple. A stag walked slowly forward and stood with the other animals, drinking from the stream. Surrounded by foxes, bears, ravens, stallions, and so many more. A lion sat alone, with one black eye and another green. He was smaller than what she imagined most would look like and his fur was as pale as the lion Drogo had killed for her. She went to approach the lion, before she saw up above, that three wolves were together. Two stalked forward, a rope clutched in their mouths dragging along a wooden device that carried the third. One was Ghost, she would of course recognize him, though the other was only a bit larger, with grey fur and yellow eyes. The one they carried had eyes that were pure white, with no color whatsoever, and a third eye, almost invisible in the silvery-grey fur, black in the middle of its head just above its nose. They approached the pool as well and began to drink from it and before she had realized, the shine of the sun had turned to a bright moon, illuminating it all. And as the wolves approached Drogon and his eggs, she saw Drogon bare his teeth.

The dragon snarled and reared his head as though to attack but then he calmed down. He untensed himself and leaned forward cautiously and sniffed at the direwolves. And then he laid down with his eggs once more and the wolves laid with him. And as she saw Ghost nuzzle his head onto Drogon's the beam of moonlight changed from silver with the dust particles swirling white and grey around it to a burst of reds and oranges and yellows and pale blues, silvers, and whites. She took it all in as both the Dragon and the Wolf looked up to the moon and as Ghost howled, Drogon loosed a funnel of flame to the night's sky.


	2. Sansa I

Sansa

I

Sansa and Bran sat in the Godswood together, in joint silence as they looked upon the heart tree. Bran was touching the pale wood with his hand and his eyes were rolled back into his heads, a pure milky white color that was unsettling to see even after so long. Though he looked at her with his dark eyes soon as he returned to the present.

"She is not dead. She must have escaped the city before the explosion. She is coming home." Bran spoke, though his voice was quiet and shaky. He had looked almost sick lately and she was beginning to worry for him, though now, her relief was overwhelming

"Thank the gods for this. We have only each other, we can't afford any more losses." It was sad, truly.

Since the death of the Others, something different was in the air, it seemed. The winds were not so harsh, the grounds began to soften, and the sun shone brightly. The maesters had sent ravens saying that they feel the winter may have been a false alarm and it may have been but a flash freeze caused by "currently unknown sources" and that the long summer may truly be upon them.

"I would like to go back inside now, Bran, would you care to join me?" Sansa began to move in before allowing him to answer, knowing already. He preferred his time outside with the heart tree, though she was the Lady of Winterfell, and she must carry out her duties.

She made her way through the winding path in the Godswood, emerging in the courtyard where the people of the castle were busy at repairs and fortification. The Battle of Winterfell had been a devastating one and they would likely be doing work for at least a year more. All bowed as she passed and she smiled at as many as she could without stopping. Though on her way to find him in the Great Hall, she found Maester Wolkan entering the Library tower as she was walking

"Maester!" She called out, approaching the bowing man. "I need to summon all of importance to the great hall to discuss the contents of the raven. We are like to travel south, I should think."

It took nearly an hour of her people filing in one by one before she was able to discuss it with the lot of them. She explained the raven that had arrived: The battle of King's Landing had occurred, and Cersei's wildfire had destroyed nearly three quarters of the city. Queen Daenerys was injured and on the mend and the affairs in the south were being carried out as necessary by Jon, Tyrion, Davos, Grey Worm, and the forces there to keep the peace. Many died in all armies due to both the battle and the explosion, including what they had so far estimated to be approximately four thousand, five hundred dead Northmen. They urgently request Lady Sansa's presence so that the future and prosperity of Westeros can be decided upon with the North having a voice at this Great Council.

"Firstly, I would like to say, that if anyone should wish to ride south to see that their dead are paid their respects, I will be allowing you to join my party south. We will be departing as soon as preparations have been made. My brother, Bran will remain as the Stark in Winterfell under guard of Ser Brienne of Tarth, my most trusted knight. The two of them, with Maester Wolkan, will serve my interests while I am gone, as shall my appointed castellan, Lord Manderly." She gave a courteous bow to the lord who appeared to be taking in the honor. "I trust that you will do well my lords, I have much work to do."

And with that, she departed the hall without another word, not wanting to waste her time on the tediousness of everyone's questions and confusion. Though she knew one would come after he if none else.

"My lady!" The deep voice called out. "My lady, please wait."

"Yes, Ser Brienne?" She asked as she continued to walk, not slowing down in the hope that the knight would give up and try again later.

"I beg your pardons, my lady, but I should accompany you south, it is not safe alone." The concern was laced in her voice, though there was a fierceness to it that Sansa had not seen in her before, it was almost motherly. "The Queen is not to be trusted, nor are her men. The Riverlands have still not returned to peace, and you will surely have to pass through Lannister lands at some given point. Bran is safe at Winterfell, surrounded by his loyal men."

"Bran worries me, he grows weaker by the day. He could hardly move should anyone mean to attack him. I need someone to watch him vigilantly, when he can not watch and call out for himself. I can trust only you to keep my brother safe, Brienne. He is one of the last few members of family I have left." She took the woman's hands into her own. "And as for Daenerys, I can handle myself against her. It is easier to take the north through diplomacy than it is by conquest, even with three dragons and a large army. The North is large and her army is small, she will not want to waste the resources fighting me."

Brienne understood there was no use in fighting any further and simply gave up. She then pulled Sansa into a hug, which she had not done in all of her time of knowing Sansa. When she pulled back, she saw tears in Brienne's eyes.

"He's dead isn't he?" She asked, her voice thick with tears.

"We have received no word of the dead, I know not if Jaime lives or Cersei or Arya or Sandor or any who were in the city. We must have hope now." Though Sansa could not believe her own words. Jaime had not ridden south to slay Cersei, they both knew that as well.

Brienne went along her way hurriedly, not being one to be too emotional, and Sansa was able to continue along her path, making her rounds through Winterfell's courtyard where she spoke to the new blacksmith, the horsemaster, the kennelmaster, the master-at-arms, the granary holder, and so on and so forth until the sky had turned black and only the stars and the sliver of a moon lit up the grounds. It was then that she began to walk along the grounds, growing softer by the day as the snow melted, making her way back to the main keep. With the walls still in repair, a chill had made its way through Winterfell as of late and she felt that chill now. It helped that the winter was beginning to fade, though still she could not help but to remember the horror of that night, feeling the environment around her in such similar conditions. She had been certain they would die that night, that everything was over and not even this woman who was more powerful than anyone she had ever met could save them. And then Arya had done it with pure animosity, as she had since they were little. The girl's animalistic nature had been a nuisance as children, though then, it was nothing short of heroic.

It was now that her heart ached for the girl, wondering where she was. She hoped that Arya was somewhere safe, and warm, and that she was coming home to them. The hot springs kept the halls of Winterfell feeling almost like the air around a hot bath though drier, so that it was like being enveloped in warmness. The halls were now more cluttered, being used for storage until the castle was repaired. She remembered walking through the hall as a girl, chasing Arya, or being chased by Robb and Jon. She missed Robb and Rickon, her furthest brothers but her brothers nonetheless. And the days when this hall was the way to see her parents, who were often in bed together under the furs. As she opened the large wooden door however, the room was very different. She had taken an interest in making the room hers a bit so as to make it normal to sleep in. And so the furs were new, made from the fur of Shaggy Dog and other wolves, so as to keep a piece of the Starks with them, if this blanket were to pass on to her children and theirs after. She had added in more furniture for sitting and writing, a cyvasse table, a large bathtub, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe that carried her clothing in it, whereas before the Lord and Lady of Winterfell would be dressed by another in the castle who would bring the clothes to them. Sansa preferred to do many of her own cares, not liking having a handmaiden much after her experience.

She drew herself a hot bath, asking only for others to bring her up the water. But once it was drawn, she had undressed herself and dropped in lavender oil and then sunk in, watching the steam billow around her as her skin prickled up in response to the heat. It felt good and soaked deep into her muscles, loosening them up and soaking away the day's tension. She poured a spiced, hot wine into her cup, sipping it occasionally as she relaxed in the water. Once she noticed that the first was gone, she poured herself a second, enjoying the light feeling that the wine brought to her head. She called for more hot water and one of the girls brought up another pail with steaming water in it. She used an empty pail to remove some of the tepid water so the new one did not make the tub overflow, and as the second was poured in, the steam rolled on top of the water, in an almost fluid like motion that reminded her oddly of the dragonfire she had seen outside of Winterfell. This glass went down faster and before she knew it, the third was gone.

She was losing track of time, though she did not care, Sansa had not allowed herself to relax this much in so long, she did not even know when. The days of lemon cakes and sewing lessons were over, and now Sansa must rule, and govern the north as her father once had. It was a role she had never thought to take; not as second born, not as a girl.

"Are you sure, my lady?" The serving girl asked in response to Sansa requesting another bottle of wine.

"Yes, and more hot water while you're at it." The wine was making her feel lively. If she had a husband she would likely be in bed with him at this moment.

Marriage was something she thought about often now, pouring herself another glass of wine as the hot water was added to the bath. As Lady and Wardeness of the North, she would need to build those relations up further as her father did. She knew Lord Manderly had sons and grandsons all older than her, Lord Dustin, Cerwyn, even Tormund, who was the de facto leader of the wildlings in all but name. They were all possibilities but still she wasn't sure. She considered other lords in the realm, perhaps one of the Reacher lords, or even Gendry now that he was legitimized, but he was with Arya. Perhaps one of the free cities would desire a trade deal with the north should she wed some archon or magister of some sorts. Ghost's howls echoed throughout the courtyard of Winterfell and into the night sky. Such sweet music to her ears, she missed hearing his voice joined with the song of his brothers and sisters.

 _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives_. Sansa had no pack anymore. Arya was missing, Jon was now the Dragon Queen's, and Bran was no longer Bran anymore. She remembered something her mother had told her once when she was a girl. _When Lysa left for the Eyrie and I left for Winterfell, I felt so scared and alone and as though I had no more family or home. And then I wed your father, and I at least knew I belonged there, and then I had Robb, and I felt that I finally had a home. And as you came, and your sister, then your brothers, I had a family eventually again as well._

She stood up in the tub, though perhaps too fast as she felt blood rush up to her head and she slipped, landing on her knees roughly which caused her to cry out. Her vision spun a bit, and she soon realized the mistake of too much wine. Two handmaids rushed in the door and helped her up. Her dizziness increased and her vision was not improving as the girl tossed her about, dressing her and leading her to bed. Eventually, she was laying down, which did nothing to help with the spinning and soon found herself retching over the side of the bed. It was then that her vision began to black out and she almost thought she went to sleep til the morning came and she was dressed differently, her bed had different covers on it than they had last night, and her hair had been pinned up. She must have been something of a mess for them to have to do so much. It was not long before she was up and ready for the day ahead of her, thankful for the night of rest of relaxation. She finally felt rested.

Tormund was the first person she had to talk to for the day as he was waiting outside of the main keep for her to wake.

"Good morning, my lady." He bowed deep yet clumsily as many of the wildlings did. "I hope you slept well."

"You as well, Tormund. Is there something I can help you with?" There was no time for games, thankfully in the North, they hardly mattered.

"Well first, the men at Eastwatch and Castle Black are already getting to work on farming the New Gift and the lands around the wall."

"Good, though it sounds as though something bad is to follow it?"

"We are hardly able to manage them. These are prisoners now, no longer crows. Some of them flee, some stay though do whatever they please, leaving us no choice but to kill them or simply let them do it."

"Thank you for telling me about this, Lord Tormund." She took a deep breath, not loving the inner politics of ruling. "I will work on sending more men as guards out to you and getting more arms and armor sent to the Wall as well. Should that be sufficient?"

"Yes, my lady." And he was off, leaving Sansa to finally breathe as she made her rounds through Winterfell, ensuring that the last necessities were taken care of before they departed as well as carrying out her promise to Tormund.

Carrying this out took her the better part of the morning, and before she knew it, the sun had passed its highest point in the sky and was beginning its slow descent. She began to feel a bit dizzy and nearly wondered why before she realized she hadn't eaten. It wasn't wise but lately, she was so busy that things like eating and sleeping were not of her first priority. Sansa made her way to the great hall where she lunched with Lord Manderly. There, they discussed the state of White Harbor, always a popular port city, was never better than before. He was working on restoring the Northern fleet so they may have a naval force and she also wants him to begin working with Lord Tormund to get some form of trade going between the Far North and the North proper. She began to discuss the possibilities of marriage though when he said that both his sons Wylis and Wendel were "not unlike him in looks" she quickly closed the discussion and bid him a good evening.

Before dusk, they had set out south on the Kingsroad, making their way to King's Landing where Sansa's life would change. Of this she was certain, though how, she did not know.


	3. Davos I

Davos

I

The fourth day was the first one where ash wasn't raining down on the ruins of the city when he awoke. On Visenya's hill, they had made what was supposed to resemble a King's encampment amongst the ruins of the Great Sept of Baelor. Jon was the King in question, though in truth the man had merely stared off, empty and blank for the past few days. Davos himself with the help of Tyrion, the Northmen, much of the Queen's men, and many volunteers from the city had begun to try to establish order. They had done several rough head counts and estimated that perhaps 11,000 people lived in the city, if that. They were unsure of Daenerys' numbers but of them, there were 4,352 Northern soldiers, 685 Vale knights, and 1,560 foot soldiers from Riverrun. The garrison of Unsullied came to them from Dragonstone, bearing only 800 unfortunately, though it was a help all the same.

The numbers had been on repeat in Davos' head as they set to order. The members of the government and great houses as well as the military commanders were residing on Visenya's hill in the encampment at night. During the day, they worked tirelessly to provide accommodation for the smallfolk at the base of the hill, facing south. They were making encampments for them, trying to clear a path to the Blackwater so that they could get to water once more. They were all certain that Cersei and Jaime had died in the blast, as had both of the Clegane brothers and Euron Greyjoy. Though Sansa's raven said that Arya should be there, and yet she wasn't. Davos was certain this didn't help Jon's state of mind, but all the same, they needed him to be their leader, not to be as mindless as the wights they had fought at Winterfell.

"Your grace, I beg your pardon, but we could use some assistance in calming the crowds down on the street of steel." Jon merely stared at him, though walked off in the right direction as though he meant to do it anyway.

How he longed for Lady Sansa to arrive so that the Great Council could commence. They longed for order and at the moment there was little and less of that. They were scraping together peace in the chaos of what had occurred there. The evening past, they had sent out word to Driftmark, Rosby, Duskendale, Crackclaw point, and Claw Isle, all closest to them who could provide aid fastest. Two days prior, ravens had been sent to Storm's End, the Eyrie, Sunspear, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, Lannisport, Oldtown, Riverrun, Pyke, Winterfell, White Harbor, and Eastwatch. They were even considering sending ravens east, as they had seen fly from Rhaenys' hill, though they dare not test waters that were not their own.

The next two days came and went uneventfully, aside from their success in establishing the encampment on the south side of Visenya's hill for the smallfolk. It was beginning to grow as they went about their lives, making do for themselves. They used the Unsullied to block off the Northwestern corner of the city, which had been spared from the blasts. The people did not know, but Davos and Tyrion had been informed the day after the battle that many more jars of Wildfire had been found. They had them brought up and were having them destroyed by pouring the wildfire over the sand outside of the city. If it were to burn, the worst that would happen would be more scorched earth on top of already scorched earth. They were beginning to file themselves properly into there, holding council thrice daily to discuss the logistics of the city, send ravens, assess their resources, and plan out their next day. The ashes had killed many in a suffocation of sorts, and others were succumbing to burns or injuries from debris. They had set up burn camps for the victims and other camps for those who had other sorts of injuries. More and more died every day however, and it seemed the gods were like to curse them with some illness that several of them had. Those few were separated and put in another camp far away, at the base of Aegon's hill.

The seahorse sails were the most beautiful sight the city had seen in nearly a week. Four large galleys with three sails apiece were approaching the bay, all with large, sea green sails billowing in the wind. He had met them many years past when Lord Monford Velaryon had supported King Stannis. It was his young boy who was lord now, they said, though the child had been only seven when he last saw him. It was his mother, the Lady Arabella, a Celtigar by birth, who ruled the isle now in his stead. He wondered if the boy's bastard uncle would be nearby. He had never much liked nor trusted Aurane Waters, and he was sure the man would be slithering around somewhere.

The ships laid anchor and rowboats were dropped in the water in a series of splashes. With quick haste, about two dozen boats began to slide on to the shore and about six times as many people began to fill up the beach. Most notable of them was Lady Arabella, walking forth with two knights on either side, with rich silver armor encrusted in jade and sapphire, turquoise and pale stones the color of seafoam. Their blades were equally rich and they each carried smaller, but nonetheless grand banners showing the pride of Driftmark.

"My lady." He bowed deeply, kissing her hand. "We thank you greatly for coming in such haste. I hope the waters served you well. It is good to see you and your boy again."

"You as well, Ser Davos." She curtsied to him. "I thank you for your kindness and do hope to see more of it from you or from the Queen in due time."

She had not been so sharp of tongue when her lord husband was alive but he expected that was like to happen with her being given rule over Driftmark these past six years. He saw as men began to get in the boat, two a piece and row themselves back out, likely to begin bringing in supplies. Hopefully, Rosby, Duskendale, and the others would have as much altruism in their bones, or ambition anyway. Lady Arabella began to give orders to the men; telling them where things were to go, who they were to report to, and how they were to do it. She was not inefficient, Davos noted.

"We picked up as much from Dragonstone as we could, though it appears there is not much there, I am sorry to say. I have not heard word from my cousin, though I would expect we can see help from Claw Isle soon enough." Seemingly satisfied with allowing her men to carry out their tasks, she began to walk toward the gate, expecting Davos to follow suit. "I do not mean to give offense, but why is the Queen not here to greet me herself? Nor this King in the North we've heard of, not even the Queen's hand, the Imp. I would say that Driftmark's assistance does not seem so important to the city were it not for the sight of the harbor."

There was no getting around this one, she was more observant than he had realized. Always staying obediently and quietly in her husband's shadow, he had no idea so much lay beneath the surface.

"You know me, my lady, I will speak dishonestly." He took a deep sigh, hoping this ally would understand and not immediately get back on her ships. "You are the only help we have. Queen Daenerys fell from the sky and was injured during the blast, she has not left the Manse that Lord Tyrion put her in since then. These past six days, Lord Tyrion, Jon Snow, the King in the North you are referring to, and myself have been trying our damn hardest to get some order in this city. Most everyone is dead, the ash only stopped falling a few days ago, those who are alive are injured, and truly, there was nobody but me who could be present now. I give my deepest apologies from myself and the Queen, my lady, but a sad truth is, I was the most important person they could spare."

She laughed a bit, turning her head and watching her men bringing crates ashore, as well as full nets and chests.

"You certainly tell it true Ser Davos. Driftmark assumed as much when we set out, though I am not ashamed to admit that I understand I will be paying for much starting today, though who knows, in a year, or two, or maybe ten, my son will be lord and our house will be richer than we were before I set sail from the isle." They passed through the ruins of the mud gate and began walking up the street of steel, making their way toward Visenya's hill. "Knowing of it does not make seeing it any less horrible. This looks like nothing I have ever seen or heard of."

A bit of the way up the street toward Visenya's hill, the camps begin to sprout up here and there, thinly spread out at first, with the ill and burned and injured all crowded together or laying in cots or walking around mindlessly. Though as they walked closer, more and more of the camps appeared, dense crowds of them eventually coming up leaving only the street itself leading up. The train of supplies followed them, with a knight guarding each man carrying a crate or wagon, and those men having swords on their belts should they need to drop their possessions and defend themselves.

The scorched and scattered earth atop Visenya's hill had been promptly stomped flat over the past week as they had made it their encampment. Large, makeshift pavilions, tents, and canopies were scattered atop the hill and around its base. There were Stark and Targaryen flags here and there, albeit most were burnt. As they neared the base, Davos was confirmed in his thoughts as the bastard of Driftmark pushed his way forward essentially, until he was walking beside both Davos and Arabella.

"Where is the dragon?" The man seemed almost lusty, Davos thought to himself. The fear and excitement and wonder that the dragons had brought was dangerous. Drogon himself was now the sole heir to that attention.

"He is hunting and will be back soon enough, I'm sure I will know by the smell of urine on you." Davos liked the man not, Aurane Waters was a bastard that lived up to the common belief of those baseborn. He was dishonest, without integrity, and ambitious.

"Excuse my brother by law, please, he may be a man of eight and twenty but he oft acts like a boy who is still hairless." She chuckled to herself as they finally approached the center of the encampment where he knew that Jon and Tyrion would likely be inside. The two of them began to speak back and forth to one another about something which he did not give any attention as it was focused on the flock of ravens flying from the window of the manse he knew the Queen to be staying in. _Dark wings, dark words_.

The tent was massive, with a vaulted, seven-sided central area that was stitched in a way that each side appeared to have its own extending "room" of sorts. They had found the crimson tent last night when a party of men had discovered it in some storage house, and had erected it overnight. It now had several banners adorning its walls. Two large Targaryen banners hung from poles planted in the ground on either side of the entrance to the tent. Stark banners were on either side of those, and past those were an arrangement of Martell, Greyjoy, Tyrell, and Lannister.

"After you, my lady." Ser Davos bowed slightly while holding the tent's curtain back for Lady Arabella to step through. "You can do as you please, _ser_ , roam the city, look for dragons, I care not."

Aurane Waters had the nerve to look offended.

"How _dare_ you?" Davos had to stifle his laughter as he watched a boy greener than grass try to puff his chest and seem large and intimidating. "I am an anointed knight and of the blood of House Velaryon and Old Valyria. I have every bit of a right to speak in this tent as she does or as the little whelp I'm to call lord."

"You'll find that you are not, and nor is he, _ser_." He said the word pointedly, as if it were an insult, and it was, for the bastard's knighthood was all he had to make him feel that he was important or worth anything. "He is a child, to be taken to the area we have prepared for him and Lady Arabella to rest. You are a bastard, an one of low integrity at that, and as such, your place is in the city, doing whatever you please. Good day to you, ser."

And with that, Davos walked inside. In truth, he cared little of Aurane's status of birth, he himself being born in flea bottom. It was the man behind the face that he disliked; the man of high ambition and cunning and of low integrity and shame. The tent was not as he expected when he entered. Nor could it be called a tent in truth. It was a pavilion, if not a fabric palace. In the center of the room sat a massive table long enough to seat twenty on either side and seven at either end. At the head of the table sat Jon, looking over several small maps that rested upon the sprawling map of Westeros that laid from head to foot of the table, and appeared to actually be spilling over the table, showing only Dorne to Harrenhal. Scorched carpets and large sails had been laid upon the floor to soften it and along the walls on the right side of the tent rested many chests, bookshelves, stacks of scrolls, shelves containing smaller chests, and more. Several large candle stands illuminated the tent and on the left appeared to be large and somewhat lavish living conditions given the state of the city. Davos imagined this tent likely was going to double as Jon or Tyrion's quarters in order to be closer to the people of the city.

"Your grace," It was still habit to refer to Jon as such, no matter if it were true or not. " This is the lady Arabella Velaryon, the Lady of Driftmark and Regent for her son, the Lord Monterys."

Everyone at the table stood; Jon at the head of the table with Tyrion to his right. There were several knights, Grey Worm, a few Northmen, and two surviving Lannister men.

"My lady," Jon bowed deeply. "I thank you greatly for your presence and your aid. You are the first of our allies and will be the most fondly remembered, you have my word."

They resumed their seats after Jon nodded to them and gestured for Davos and Lady Arabella to sit on either side of him. Davos was not sure how long the council had gone on for, with the tent being closed and the candle light making it hard to tell. They were trying to sort out a great deal of things; zoning to ensure that the nobles and their soldiers would have sufficient housing and their own area in the city for the time being. The healthy would need to also be provided their own area away from the sick and injured which outnumber the healthy five to one currently. There was not much area inside of the city that was not an ashy, rubbled ruin save for the hill they were camped upon now, the small sector of the city near the Gate of the Gods, and Aegon's High Hill, though the base of the hill remained impassable due to the debris. It was eventually decided upon that the remains of the West Barracks of the City Watch would be given over to the Unsullied and the fragments of other soldier factions for housing and as a proper barracks. The houses surrounding it were to be given over to the healthy while the sick camps that had formed along the street of steel were to remain their designated area. Here on Visenya's hill would be where the nobility and their token soldiers would remain in order to receive other nobles and carry out governance moving forward.

Much of the discussion was taken up by talk of evacuating the healthy to Dragonstone or Driftmark rather than staying in the city. The complications were numerous and the subject was eventually dropped altogether. Jon opened the next topic by letting them know that he was not sure why, but the Queen had not left her manse yet and was not taking visitors. For now, all they can think is that the losses she has faced and the stress of the battle may have her bedridden, though they will carry out the governance of the realm in her name. Lady Sansa was riding south as they spoke and once she arrived, a Great Council of sorts would be held where Queen Daenerys would be publicly and officially crowned and where decisions would be made moving forward for Westeros. The food rations were to be distributed throughout the city. Six tenths would go to the soldiers, and the nobles would divide the remains in half, for them and for the people.

"Should we not also send word to Essos? Braavos and Pentos have helped many times in the past, and the Queen has built a large empire in the east as well." Lady Velaryon was making her point, and making it firmly. "Could they not send aid?"

"I will bring this up with the Queen. Should she want to act on it, I will make sure you are the first to know, my lady, I thank you for the words." Jon stood up, looking a man of forty years. "If you would all excuse me, I need to rest, I thank you for your time."

He left the tent then, and went on his way. Davos knew where he was going, however, that look in his eye was one of a man who had been allowing something to build up for a long while. Something which had finally burst. Grey Worm and the other soldiers began discussing certain patrol paths and areas of defense along the walls. It was only he and Lady Arabella still, who made their way out of the tent once more and into the open air of the city. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink when they set foot on the firm earth. The sun had begun to sink over the horizon and the city was beginning to prepare to rest, it seemed. A city that he had once remembered to lighten up at light with a hundred fires all over the streets, from Flea Bottom to the Mud Gate. It filled him with a sad feeling, to see that nearly everything was gone.

He escorted Lady Arabella to a large tent made of thick brown canvas, though it was one of the larger ones available and had been reserved for the purpose of any nobles coming just as she had. He kissed her hand gently and bid her and her son a good evening. Ser Davos continued to walk as orange and pink bled to a deep purple and black and blue and the sky soon looked like an inkwell littered with shining white specks. He continued to walk, down Visenya's hill, toward the eastern part of the city. He passed the ruins of the ancient guildhall of the alchemists, which was now a mere tower reduced to rubble, standing no higher than Davos' knee now. The large courtyard just past that which had once been lined with trees of spruce and oak and birch and now was merely an empty hall flooded with ash and stones and bones.

And so he kept walking, and as he passed each step, each block, he almost forgot, he almost in his mind's eye could still see the bustling streets of King's Landing. The pot shops where bowls of brown were served and the gutter alleys where cutthroats and bandits roamed. There was the good and the bad in the city, same as all places, but it was his home. He had taken his first steps in Gin Alley and his own sons had all been born in his hovel in Flea Bottom. Though as he looked, and turned each corner, each step, each block, he remembered. He remembered the horror and the destruction, the fire and blood. And now after the fact, there was no more fire and blood, no more horror and screams, it was silent. A city of ghosts, now, Davos walked alone amongst the living as he approached what he knew to be Flea Bottom. Had he not been born and raised there, he may not have recognized it. It appeared Cersei's contempt for the smallfolk had gone so low that she had placed the majority of her wildfire underneath them all. Whereas other areas in the city showed signs of explosion with many areas upturned, the earth blasted out and strewn out and craters and pockets littering the city, but here in flea bottom, it was the worst of all. It looked as though some great giant had reached down with his colossal shovel and simply scooped up Flea Bottom and overturned it like a farmer tilling the dirt.

There were not many times in his life that Davos surprised himself. He liked to think he was a simple man, raised by his parents to be a family man, to marry a good woman and have sons by her and be good to her and be good to yourself and be good to your children in all ways, and most importantly be good to the gods. However now, Davos did something that he had not allowed himself in quite a while. He fell to his knees and began to crawl, almost like a child, to the earth and debris of the ruins of Flea Bottom and allowed himself to lay there, sobbing for a moment, for his sons, for his wife, for himself, for the country, and for the boy that had lived inside of him that had finally laid down and accepted that he was but an old man, who had been in the eye of the storm all along.


	4. Daenerys II

Daenerys

II

Learning of the pregnancy had somehow triggered the symptoms. Whereas before she had been none the wiser, the morning after learning of it, she had been retching through the morning, and come time to break her fast, the food Grey Worm brought her made her retch again, despite it being something she loved. The stink of the city wafting up into the windows of her room helped none. Though fearful to leave, she hated being confined to this place. Grey Worm was her sole company, aside from the maester who frequented, and neither provided great conversation. She knew Drogon flew about outside and she enjoyed talking to him, though of course he couldn’t hear her. At night, when she dreamt, she could swore she became Drogon for a time, seeing through his eyes flights over the city, over the hills of the Crownlands, the waters of Blackwater Bay. 

“Is there a plan, my queen?” Grey Worm asked her on a day that she had asked him to sit with her while she chewed idly on olives. They were starting to use some of the reserves she had brought from the east, and the pickled olives would stay good for at least a year still.

“I do not know, Torgo Nudho. I have hardly anyone left to me but you and Drogon and these babies.” She took a deep breath and looked out of the window, where she could swear she saw sails in the bay. “This was to be our home, though now it feels like the most unsafe place in the world. Should we just go back home? To the east, where we know them and they know us?” 

“We can’t, can we?” There was confusion in the man’s face. His dark eyes furrowing closer and almost squinting at her. “We have come so far, we have lost so much. If we turn back now, it is them who have won, and us who have lost.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek, smiling. She planted a kiss on either cheek. “Oh, Grey Worm, you’re right. I just am so scared, and you are my only hope of safety. You and my son above.”

He smiled back at her, a solemn nod following it. A knock at the door came and she knew it could only be the maester or perhaps Tyrion on one of his numerous attempts to speak with her. He was a traitor, one she would not entertain, but she didn’t have the time or the heart to have Grey Worm imprison him. She was too tired for war any longer. Some days she wished she had just gone back to Braavos when her dragons were born. There, she could have stayed with the Sealord, he would have given her a home in Braavos, with gardens and fields and a lemon tree, and a red door. Though it was only Maester Melwys who shuffled through the door.

“Here to do your daily checkup, your grace.” The man’s toothy grin never failed to annoy her, nor did the obvious sycophancy behind it do any to melt her icy exterior. “Is there anything of note you want to mention about the pregnancy as of yet?”

She nodded a simple no laying there and allowed him to begin his examination. She cared little and less what he did, so long as he did it quickly, which he was beginning to learn and so soon, it was over. During, however, she had watched as indeed, ships began to dock on the beaches and unload. Men, soldiers, and crates began to pour onto the beach and into the city.  _ Enemies, or allies? _ She didn’t know anymore. They bore the seahorse of Driftmark, of the Velaryons. House Targaryens oldest friend, though of late, they had been the dogs of Stannis Baratheon, and she was unsure of trusting them.

“Everything appears to be fine, your grace. Of course no dragon riding until after you have given birth and likely no horseback riding to be sure as well.”

“I rode on horseback through the entirety of my first pregnancy.” She did not care to mince words. “Are you sure that you have completely earned your maester’s chain?”

“Why, yes, my queen.” He nervously chuckled, shifting the links on his neck nervously. “I studied at the citadel for 18 years before choosing to leave. I almost served under an archmaester before deciding to serve under a lord. I was assigned to be the Grand Maester after Pycelle’s death, though Cersei the Usurper appointed her own deviant to the position, defying the order of the maesters, and so I remained in Oldtown for a while, only leaving but a fortnight before my arrival in the city a few days past. We had learned of your victory at Winterfell and knew Cersei’s days were nigh.” 

“I apologize for my rudeness, Maester Melwys. You have done nothing ill to me, in truth, nor are you deserving of my wrath.”

“The apology is not necessary, your grace. The stresses of war are nothing compared to the stresses of a mother carrying her babe. You are experiencing both and I am here only to understand and assist, as is the nature of my order, not to judge.” He bowed deeply, and Dany couldn’t help but to admire the man.

“I am pleased to meet you Grand Maester, I do believe you are the first of my court that I am meeting. I hate to begin our first pleasant conversation this way, but could you please do me a favor?”

“But of course, my queen.” He beamed like a child who was being allowed to help in some task. “Your wish is my command.” 

She asked him to write several letters. They would be to the east. One to the Red Temple of Volantis, asking for the hand of R’hllor to help the lord’s chosen at this time. There were copies of this made and sent along with it. Others were to go to Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen; Daenerys had taken Westeros. She asked that they came to her side now as she needed them as she had never needed them. Daario, she specifically requested, to remember his love for her and come protect her. The last set were to go all over; Naath, the Summer Isles, Pentos, Volantis, Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Qarth, Ib, and the likes. From this day forth, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, had reconquered Westeros and sat the Iron Throne once more. She held the Bay of Dragons and the Dothraki Sea and had shattered the slave trade. All the lands west of the Bone Mountains would not be hers in name, though slavery would end from this day forth or they would be brought fire and blood, as the others had learned. The ravens flew from the manse, nearly two dozen in full and she watched as they took wing to the east, a black flurry letting out their calls into the air as the sun began to set, bleeding its fiery colors into the sky. 

Now, the waiting game was to set in, she thought to herself, as she saw the sun dip beneath the horizon and the moonlight begin to replace the red glow with a silver one. How she wished that she could ask anyone for advice. Tyrion and Jon and Davos were all intelligent and experienced men. Sansa and Arya Stark both also were women who could help her with useful knowledge. So many lords and ladies, knights and squires and soldiers alike, though she had learned that she couldn’t trust many here in Westeros. At every turn, her councilors had led her astray, causing only the death of her loved ones and the destruction of her forces and eventually King’s Landing itself. She was alone, and with Jon proclaiming himself Aegon Targaryen, she had lost the realm and the throne. All she had now was her son and her unborn babe and the Unsullied who loved her dearly. 

Her hair had been unbraided for a while, perhaps over a week now, she thought to herself. Daenerys sat in front of the window and looked up at the moon, whose glow bathed the city in a pale light, showing the camps of people that still lived. Not long ago, her braids had nearly formed a crown on her head of sorts, now, however, she did not have many. The largest and single braid she allowed for Drogon; her son who she had kept through all of this, who had protected her and she had protected in turn. Two smaller braids would adorn it on either side and tied it at the mid-length, for the Bay of Dragons and all she had done for the people there. Two larger braids she made underneath Drogon’s, for the Unsullied and Dothraki who remained to her. The last braids she braided together with the largest central braid near the bottom. Satisfied, she stood up, smiling at herself, thankful still to have retained some victories. If only she had some bells, she began to think to herself, when the door to her chambers opened.

“My queen,” Grey Worm spoke in High Valyrian. “The bastard from the North has come to speak with you. He says that it is urgent.” 

From behind him, stepped forth Jon. He had been stripped of weapons, it looked like, and was wearing a simple garb, almost as though he was preparing to sleep soon enough. He looked at her with confused eyes. She knew him well, he could not decide if he wanted to kiss her, hug her, and walk back out. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do either. 

“Dany.” His voice was quiet and soft, but she heard it. “Are you okay?” 

He sounded almost sad. She realized she hadn’t had the opportunity to look at herself, she wasn’t sure if she had been hurt on her face. Her face didn’t hurt necessarily, but Maester Melwys had been making her a potion she drank in the morning and before bed which helped with the aches. 

“I am being cared for by Grand Maester Melwys. He was sent by the Citadel and I trust him.” She realized that with those words. The gentle man meant her no harm, that much was plain. “He tends to me and ensures I am healthy.”

“That’s good. We were all worried for you. I wanted to give you your time to rest and to heal. After what happened, I’m sure your ass is sore to say the least.” He tried to laugh, flashing her the smile that she had seen so rarely. She almost cried then, as she felt a warmness began to flood her heart and through her body. 

“I appreciate your kindness, Aegon.” She had never called him that before, and in truth, it was only to see how he responded.

“That is not my name.” He said with a stone face, though not after flinching upon hearing it. “My name is Jon.”

“Of what house? Or do you still claim to be a snow?” Dany would not give up, she had to know his true intention. She had not shown fear when she had made so many daring moves before. Somehow, confronting the man she both loved and feared, felt more terrifying than everything she had done leading up to it. “Your mother named you Aegon Targaryen on her deathbed.” 

“Aye, I know what my mother named me. And I know that I was raised as Jon Snow up until my friend told me otherwise days before we fought the Others.” He was beginning to pace, seeming both frustrated and overwhelmed. “I haven’t had the time to even think about it, I’ve been too busy dealing with the city. I am a Stark, and I am a Targaryen. I do not have to choose and I won’t. However, Dany, if you truly want to know, I am Aegon Targaryen according to the realm.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Like so many times before, she was crossing the trident.

“Maester Melwys has informed me that I’m pregnant.” She watched as the light seemed to go out from his eyes. The wind almost seemed like it was knocked from him as he stumbled back. “I’ve been with only you, have loved only you. I have twins inside of me, though I don’t know what they are yet.”

She turned from him, looking at the moon once more, watching as Drogon flew in circles over the city, his massive wings covering the moon. She was giving Jon a moment to breathe and to process it, knowing it was a lot to take in. No matter what he said, no matter how much she pitied the stress he was under managing the ruin of a city, she had to protect the children. She would be staying in this manse, and would be calling back her Unsullied. Soon, she was going to be making a retreat to Dragonstone, should a ship be procured before she was unable to sail. 

“Twins.” He said the word as though he didn’t know what it meant. “I never knew that I wanted this until now.”

That, she had not expected. She turned around, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. He looked back at her, with those stormy dark eyes that drew her in every time. 

“Dany, I swear to you,” He began, getting closer to her, almost as though he intended to embrace her, before getting to one knee. “I am and will always be loyal to you. You are my Queen. For these children, I will ensure that you are safe and that we preserve the realm for them.”

A part of her hurt at hearing his words.  _ For these children _ , she had expected, though she had hoped that eventually, he would say it was for her. He truly could no longer love her. In truth, she could not blame him, perhaps the Targaryen tradition of incest had been as repulsive as everyone felt. She had been raised by Viserys to think they would wed and so it did not seem unnatural to her. Though now, the thought of wedding her twins to one another once they came of age was unsettling to her. 

“Rise, Jon.” He stood up and immediately embraced her, which she had not expected. It did not last long, though like a breeze, it was sweet and allowed her to live in that moment of bliss for just a bit. His hands went to her stomach, which she caressed as though nothing else mattered to him.

There was a time where she would have wanted this, Dany thought, watching Jon stare in complete adoration of her stomach. Though now the taste was bitter in her mouth. He would never hurt her, so long as she held his child, and would ensure that nobody ever allowed her to come to harm. Though of her men, and of Drogon, she could not be so sure. Many would want them dead, perhaps even to hold her hostage. No, she thought to herself, I can not allow them to get a hold of me. 

“I thank you for coming, Jon, if you wouldn’t mind, I haven’t left this manse in over a week and would love fresh air and to see Drogon.” She smiled at him and looked to Grey Worm, speaking to him in High Valyrian. “Please have the guard of the manse escort me outside to see Drogon.”

And so she was escorted by thirty Unsullied who walked her out of the large manse and onto the streets of King’s Landing. The Gate of The Gods loomed large above the manse and only a few minutes walk away from it as well. The air was cold, still, as winter was beginning to leave the air and allow spring to return. Jon had gone his separate ways and she made her way out of the gate, opened by her own guards, and into the open field. The grass had given way to overturned and scorched earth. For nearly half a mile out, it was like this, giving way eventually to flatland again which turned to hill only a few hundred yards out past that. 

The sounds of the city were behind her, people amongst the camps both on Visenya’s hill and around it, all talking and drinking what little they had, and trying their best to laugh and sing amidst the agony of the fallout. She called out to Drogon, her voice ringing clearly. She soon heard his cry in response as he dove down, landing gracefully, though inevitably shaking the ground. 

He looked fine from a bit far away, but as the two neared one another, she noticed he was limping, his left wing appearing to be hurt in some way. There were marks on his body where arrows, scorpions, bolts, and debris had scraped and cut him and may even have pierced him in areas. He had other marks on him that could only be some form of scorch marks left from the wildfire blast, which had affected even a dragon. He made a noise that could only be a whine of longing for his mother. She hugged his great head as one might hug a large dog. He nuzzled her in turn like a dog as well. He sniffed about her, and nuzzled at her stomach as well, as though he was ensuring that the children were safe as well. Of course he had known, she thought to herself. 

Daenerys turned and looked out on the bay. There were near a dozen Velaryon ships sitting at anchor, though the fires aboard and the shouts and laughter told her that men partied aboard. Out at sea, she could see another set of ships coming in, perhaps a day’s sail away. They would be here by mid-day tomorrow, and the city would be better off for it. The dizziness set in when she spun back toward the city to face Grey Worm and Drogon. She stumbled a bit though was thankfully able to gather herself.

“I want to go up on the walls, so I may look out on the city.” She had dreamt of this moment for long, though had imagined it would be from a tower of the Red Keep, not the Gate of the Gods.

They escorted her past, allowing her a moment to stroke Drogon along the jaw and press her forehead to his snout. 

“Soon, we will take to the skies as one again,  my child.” She spoke to him in High Valyrian, the language of their blood. 

The stairs up to the walls were inside of the gatehouse that rested just inside the wall. Three paneled walls with one open to allow people inside. Canvases hung from the walls to block out sunlight, insects, and the elements. There were maps strewn about the desks with ink and parchment and wax containers haphazardly placed. There were still Lannister seals in many places and even a pile of banners lay crumpled in the corner. They moved past it, her eyes remaining fixed on the symbol of Cersei’s downfall, though the longer she stared, her vision began to blur and she grew nauseous. 

In the next room, they saw spears stacked along the walls, with swords and bows in their own respective racks, with arrows standing feather up inside of buckets stuffed full of them. They soon came upon the staircase where her stomach only turned further upon seeing the climb before her. Her stomach had hardly begun to swell at all and still she felt ill. The first step made the room spin, and promptly, she clutched the rail for support. Grey Worm and two Unsullied rushed to her side in concern, though Dany waved them off and continued the climb. She felt Grey Worm at her back, though ignored it, understanding it was his duty. Each step was laborious on her. Her back was beginning to ache and her head was swimming. It could not have been the heat, she thought to herself, it was still breaking winter. She had been eating and drinking plenty,

_ Poison, _ the word coursed through her body and soon her heart was racing. Someone could have poisoned her, and how would she have known?

“Grey Worm.” He rushed forward as though she had screamed. “Where did you get my food from these three days past?”

“Our personal reserves from Meereen, my Queen. And some was brought up from the camp of Tyrion and Jon Snow themselves, why?” The man was confused, though not unintelligent, and was figuring it out, she could see it on his face.

“I do not know if it is poison, but I fear it all the same.” It was only loud enough for him to hear, as she took the final step up to the top of the wall. Her vision had gotten blurry and her balance was nearly nonexistent. Her head was beginning to throb and though not large enough to truly move, she felt her babes inside her. 

“No, my queen. The master warned us of this. He told us your body was tired, and needed rest. Walking would only make it worse. He warned us you may even faint.

“Well if I do faint, bring me back to bed, please, Torgo Nudho.” She was beginning to question her faith in the maester, though she would allow herself this one positive memory. 

And that it was, as she stood atop the walls and regained her balance, she looked out over the sprawling landscape of King’s Landing. Though riddled with the destruction of the blast, it was still the site of Aegon’s landing, where Rhaenys and Visenya had crowned him first of his name. Rhaenys’ hill, where the ruins of the dragonpit stood, smaller than Aegon’s, though larger than Visenya’s hill where encampments now laid in the remains of the Great Sept of Baelor. A smile broke across her face as she closed her eyes and breathed in the air. Though upon opening them, she realized that to be a mistake. Her head was swimming once more and her vision began to blur. Soon, she didn’t know which way was up and she could hear her name being called out from multiple directions.

She awoke in her bed, back in the manse. It was late at night, the sun had just gone down.  _ I’ve only been out a few moments then, thankfully _ , she thought to herself as she struggled to sit up in bed. The life in her stomach fought back, as though the babe simply wanted her to lie there for nine turns of the moon and only get up once they could join her. Something about the city looked different as she looked out on it. There was still lights and laughter and shouts, though it was  _ wrong _ . It was as if some mischievous god had rearranged her chambers while she slept, though had also taken the time to rearrange everything else. The bell sat by her bed still and so she rang it, to save herself the energy.

Grey Worm came in within seconds, nearly rushing her. “Are you okay?” He asked in High Valyrian, his voice thick with worry and empty of courtesy.

“I think so, I feel fine.” She was telling the truth, the only nuisance was his lack of personal space at the moment. “I see I took a fall on the walls. I hope nobody saw their queen in such disarray.”

“Many saw you fall. Many have come all day and night since then to bring you flowers and tokens of their well wishes.” His words slapped her across the face. “Jon Snow has been requesting to see you all night. He is waiting for you outside.”

“How long have I been out Grey Worm? It can’t have been more than a half hour.” She was appalled, this only reinforced her fears. Why would she have been unconscious for so long if she had not been poisoned.

“You fainted yesterday at sunset your grace. It is now four hours past sunset on this day. You came to a few times, though I ensured you remained asleep so you could heal.” Maester Melwys walked in behind Grey Worm and began rummaging through his supplies. “You need to stay in bed, the force of that blast did a number on your body. Your dragon has not flown since then, even he knows when he needs to rest.”

The man’s tone was that of an uncle or a grandfather making a jest. There was nothing but warmness in it, Dany thought to herself, he was just a man of his order.

“Thank you, Torgo Nudho. You may bring in Jon.” She smiled at him, and watched him leave. “Why did you become a maester, Melwys?”

“Not many have asked me that, my queen.” He smiled at her, like a little boy who was being given a sweet. “When I was young, the Grey Plague swept through Oldtown. I was just a boy then, living with my mother and father and their families. I soon watched as the local whores and tradesmen on the docks began to die of it. Soon, the guards were dying of it as well, and before long, it was my own grandparents, my uncles and aunts, my cousins and even my own parents. I was told half a hundred times that I was one of the lucky ones, that the plague had spared me. Truth be told, your grace, I’m not sure what exactly was spared. I was an orphan, no family left but a great uncle who cared little and less for me and had departed the city as soon as he got the chance, leaving me behind.”

“That is horrible, nobody ever deserves to experience that, especially not as a child.” She took his hands in her own. “You will always be welcome in my service, Maester Melwys.”

“I thank you for your kindness, your grace, but I have seen many a horror since then in my years at the Citadel, and my years before. I spent some time then in orphanages, learning to be a cutpurse, trying my hand at mummery, and unfortunately ended up working in a brothel for a man who promised me wages I never saw. I left when I went three days without food and found my way in the house of a man who told me he’d be going to the Citadel in a fortnight. His  _ assistant _ I could be, he said.” Melwys let out a laugh as though that were the funniest thing in the world. “I was assistant to nothing but the underside of his boots. The man liked to beat me, boss me around, use me as I was used in a brothel, and on the seldom occasion, would have me fetch him materials and scrolls and books while he worked in the Citadel. I have never considered myself a godly man, your grace, though by some stroke of luck, that man died on my thirty-fourth day at the Citadel. I never learned how he died though I imagine someone finally informed the man that he did not, in fact, rule the world.”

“But if he died, how did you remain in the Citadel?” Dany was confused now, and intrigued.

“By another stroke of luck, the Archmaester had taken a liking to me. Thankfully, in a somewhat innocent way. He saw my use as an acolyte, and so that was what I became. I fetched his parchments and quills and inkwells when he needed them. I delivered letters and transported what was required. I served food and emptied chamber pots and did my duties as an acolyte of the Citadel. In exchange, I had a roof over my head, access to the library, and three meals a day provided to me. What more could I ask for?” He shrugged at her, though in his eyes, she saw an answer. “Purpose. That is what I could ask for, my queen. As I grew older in the Citadel, I found that though my life was sufficient, it lacked purpose. I was still haunted by the horrors of my childhood and had no way to heal from them, no way to direct them so that I may find what purpose I serve in this world. And then one day, I saw a woman come into the Citadel, into one of the sick rooms that they have, so one may protect others from their illness. This woman reminded me of my mother, with her eyes and her hair, and so I followed her. For many days I talked to her and the others in those sick rooms, through the small windows provided to them. I bonded with them in a way, and on the first day that I saw one of them die, it nearly broke me. I was a boy all over again, not in the walls of the Citadel but back out on the streets, watching as the Grey Plague ravaged all I knew and held dear. For four days and three nights, I felt as though I was living in the seventh hell itself. And then on the fourth night, I went back down to those sick rooms and I talked to the woman, who reminded me of my mother so much. That woman who I now was terrified in my bones would turn into my mother if I looked at her. However, when I looked at her, she was only herself, and when she talked to me, she was still only herself. I devoted myself to learning what ailed her, and by the break of dawn, I was sure of it. Again, I am no godly man, but there had to have been some divine intervention for I brought my theory to the Archmaester and he healed her accordingly. And I was right, your grace. Because of me, she recovered quickly and was able to make her way back to living her life as normal. Since then, I have never tasted a fruit so sweet as watching life return to one you have cared for and nurtured.”

“I am not a godly woman, Maester Melwys, but whatever lies beyond this life for us, will be the closest thing to the seven heavens for you, I am sure of it.” She took his hands in hers again and kissed them gently.

“My queen, Jon Snow is here.” Grey Worm announced from the doorway, breaking the two of them from their conversation.

She could not help but look at him and fall in love everytime she saw him. But that is something I have to put behind me now, Dany thought to herself. During the battle, she had been so filled with rage. She had wanted to take down all who opposed her, eradicate all of her enemies as they had done to all her allies. Though now, she was a mother once more, and she cared for her children above all else.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Maester Melwys.” She smiled at him. 

“Of course your grace.” He bowed deeply and almost turned to go before suddenly standing upright and reaching into his pockets. “Oh, I almost forgot! There was a raven, my Queen, from Lady Yara Greyjoy. Her fleet has passed Oldtown recently and is sailing around Dorne now. I would estimate she will be here within a week or two, depending on the seas and the winds.”

“Thank you again, Maester.” She smiled, gesturing for him to leave. “Torgo Nudho, you may stand outside while I speak to Jon Snow.”

He bowed and did as she commanded, closing the door behind him. The two were left alone, her sitting upright in bed, violet eyes meeting his storm grey ones as he stood across the room.

“He doesn’t know who I am, still?” Jon’s skill had never been tact. “It doesn’t matter, that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about, Dany. We need to talk about the future.”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to tell him, no.” Dany took a deep breath. “And as for the future, I am currently only worried about making sure that Westeros regrows and rebuilds peacefully, and in time, I will begin my fight in the east once more to ensure the bondage of slavery becomes only something people read of in books.”

“I mean for us, Dany. For our children, our House, this city. What are we to do about Sansa and the North? About everything going on still?” He was getting closer to her, his voice raising, though not with anger. 

“Your sister will submit, there is no question of it. The North is mine. As for everything else, the Riverlands and the Vale are secure under their lords who I do believe have enough intelligence not to contest me. Yara Greyjoy has reclaimed the Iron Islands in my name and this Prince of Dorne has done the same for me in the south. I have legitimized Gendry to rule Storm’s End and with my backing, the lions of the west will be quiet while Tyrion takes Casterly Rock. We will allow the lords of the Reach to choose their new lord paramount from amongst themselves.”

“These are all perfect outcomes from imperfect people. We can not rely on things to be so simple as this.” He put his hand on hers and for a moment, she was unsure of what to do, before she relaxed and allowed it to rest atop hers. “We need our Queen down there. I need you.”

“I am not healthy enough, nor am I safe should I go down there. I can not trust any of those men, only my own, and I am outnumbered.” She moved her hand and turned away from him as she felt tears well up in her eyes.  _ You are blood of the dragon _ , she reminded herself.

“I will keep you safe, Dany. You are the mother of my children.” He took her hand once more. “And I will not let my children be bastards. I will marry you Dany, and not as your King, but as your Prince Consort, as Daemon did for Queen Rhaenyra so many years past. I will bend the knee in the same moment that we reveal my birthright and we will unite our claims for all the realm to see. Our children will be trueborn and you will have your throne uncontested. Sansa will then have no choice but to betray her family and be named a kinslayer.”

It was all too much for Daenerys, who began to feel her head swimming once more. Jon looked at her, confused, with his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted to the side.

“Dany?” His voice began to sound echoey and far away for some reason and a throbbing formed in her head. 

“Oh you’ve gone and stressed her out again!” Maester Melwys’ voice was the last thing she heard as he burst into the room and rushed to her, likely to give her some potion or the other. 

All she could see was the night’s sky from the window by her bed. The Ice Dragon was the brightest constellation in the sky, its pale blue starlight shining over her.  _ A pale blue rose growing from a chink in a wall of ice _ . Darkness took her and Daenerys was once more peacefully asleep.

  
  



	5. Brienne I

Brienne

I

Sometimes, Brienne truly hated being a bloody woman. She had never found it being much of a hindrance to her in fighting, as she was of a height, if not taller than most men. She was just as, if not stronger than most men as well and found that she was more formidable than most in all aspects and so that was not her issue. Her moon’s blood bothered her less than she heard other girls complain of, and she had no irritating breasts to worry about or long hair to maintain. However, she was a woman, all the same, and she had been told since she was a girl what was expected of her; She would marry a highborn man and she would give him trueborn sons and daughters named Tarth who would rule the island after her father and her. 

In part, that had come true. As Maester Wolkan left the warm room of her chambers at Winterfell, she wrapped her arm around her belly. There was a child inside of her, growing and living off of her.  _ Jaime’s child _ , she thought to herself, and suddenly, she was retching into the very bucket that had been provided to her by Wolkan. Lately, she had wondered to herself, what could her purpose be any longer? She was still young, as were the Starks. Was her sole purpose to die protecting them and their house? If so, then she would do it, but she was not quite sure it was what she was destined for. This babe inside of her didn’t quite feel like destiny either, but it was closer to scratching the itch. 

She began to dress herself for the day, putting on the underclothes, then the tunic and breeches.  _ Family _ , she thought to herself. The word hadn’t flashed through her mind in some time. The word only meant Lord Selwyn to her. She never knew her mother and the few cousins she had she cared nothing for. Only her gentle father who had trained her in the art of sword fighting. Now, she would have a child, and that word would mean something different. It would mean family, it would mean an heir for her father. She imagined the Queen would legitimize the baby as a Tarth should she ask. The woman was in love with a bastard after all, and should likely be sympathetic to Brienne’s plea.

Brienne didn’t notice when she had sat back down but as she looked at herself in the mirror, half-dressed, she couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. She couldn’t remember when she had last gotten a good night’s rest. Perhaps the night before I learned of Jaime’s death, she thought. Sleep took her before she could think anything further.

“Ser Brienne,” She heard a voice hazily call from somewhere above. “Wake up.”

When she opened her eyes, it was Maester Wolkan she saw again, though the room had an orange glow to it now. She sat up in bed and looked around. It was late night, she realized, seeing the dark sky outside the window.

“Why did you allow me to rest? Lady Sansa charged me with protecting Bran!” She was on the verge of shouting at the man.

“Brandon is perfectly fine, Ser, you needed the rest.” Maester Wolkan looked genuine, which was all that saved him from Brienne rounding on the man in rage. “The feast is almost started below, they are awaiting your arrival to start.”

She calmed down a bit, feeling the fog of sleep fade from her. She looked at the maester in a way that she hoped the man viewed as apologetic.

“My apologies, Maester Wolkan.” She bowed her head to him. “I’ll be down as soon as I’ve dressed.”

He left once she gave him a smile and opened the door. Brienne took her moment to sit on the bed, running her fingers through her wiry hair. It was starting to grow long, she couldn’t remember the last time her hair had touched her chin. The pale blonde hair and icy blue eyes of Tarth, would always be our heritage, her father had told her since she was young. Any child you have will look the same, he had assured her.

Her son or daughter would not bear the Tarth name, however. They would be a Snow or a Storm, wherever they grew up. She couldn’t ask the queen to legitimize the child of Jaime Lannister. Daenerys may as well shackle her and burn her for a traitor in that instant. She would be sympathetic to the plight of bastards, but not this bastard, Brienne thought to herself, caressing her belly in that moment. Brienne would protect their child, she was sure of it. Though, had Jaime stayed with them, their child could never be hurt by anyone.

Still dressed from her earlier slumber, Brienne made her way down the stony stairs of Winterfell and found herself in the Great Hall within a minute or two. All tables were filled with the inhabitants of the castle and its grounds, as well as even some from the Winter Town south of the castle. At the high table sat Bran in the high seat of the Starks. The seat to his right was empty, though Tormund Giantsbane was on his left, chatting away happily with Lord Manderly while tearing pieces of meat off of a drumstick with his teeth. The feasting had begun without her, it had seemed. Maester Wolkan sat next to the empty seat which she was now making long strides towards. 

“Ser Brienne!” Tormund shouted, standing up before she had the opportunity to make it to her seat. “I’m sorry we started eating without you, but I was so hungry I nearly ate Lord Manderly here.” 

The men all began laughing amongst themselves, though Brienne thought they were just a bit obnoxious. Men could be a bit shallow in that sense. The shallow girls cared only about dresses and balls and marriage and knights and songs, but the shallow men laughed at crude humor and partook in it themselves. Shallow men taunted others and thought themselves above the law, and above other people. Shallow men were those who named her  _ Brienne the Beauty _ as a girl, those who thieved, who beat strangers, who were rapers. She didn’t think Tormund was the type, however, just that those in that crowd were the like to find humor in even the slightest bit of stupidity once they had a drop of ale in their blood. 

“Thank you, my lord.” She gave a forced smile and proceeded, slowly this time, to her seat. “Good evening, my lord.”

“Good evening, Ser Brienne.” Bran smiled at her, though it was the same haunting, empty smile that he had for everyone. The face of a boy who no longer existed. 

“This is quite the feast. It is grander than what we had after the Battle of Winterfell and I’m sure your lords are happier for it.” He turned to her, still with that dead smile on his face.

“Yes, I’m sure they are.” He was growing paler these past few days, and as of this past week, he had begun asking to be taken to the Godswood much more than he had before.

Lord Tormund had recently been named Lord of Giantsbane, which was to be the name of the keep he would build in whatever suitable land he found beyond the wall. They were going on an expedition to map out the land and plan out the usage of it to be discussed with Lady Sansa. She knew that livestock could be maintained in those temperatures, and she had heard of some crops that thrived in the cold, but Brienne couldn’t fathom what purpose annexing that land would do for them, aside from more than doubling the size of the North. 

“Maester Wolkan,” The man turned, looking as though he half expected her to yell at him again. “What benefits does Lady Sansa propose to gain from this?”

“Well, the lands in the far north have always been very fertile for timber farming for many leagues beyond the wall. There are leagues upon leagues of land that farmers could use for cattle and livestock, many crops and plants can still grow that far north, believe it or not. Though most of all, eventually, as the north regrows in population, it will allow us to grow larger than we ever have before.” 

The man was proud, she could see. He was likely born in the north, she surmised, or in some way held the north in reverence. All the same, she thought him a good addition to the household of Stark. The rest of the feast began to blur past as she ate her food, entertained small talk with this person and that one. Tormund tried to strike drunken conversation with her six times, though she left before he could make it a holy number.

Brienne had been making her way down the hall, walking fast. Her stomach was turning and her mouth was beginning to water. The food had unsettled her, though she had never had a weak stomach. The woman had hardly made it down the next hallway before she was retching into the snow-topped grasses outside of the hall. She had made sure to only drink water and had eaten lightly. Though, apparently there would be no winning in motherhood. The babe had lost its father, as had she. No, Brienne thought to herself, I didn’t lose him, he abandoned us, for Cersei. The thought brought tears to her eyes though she choked them back when she heard footsteps.

“Too many cups of wine there, my lady?” The gruff voice slurred out the sentence with much difficulty. “How can one still look so good even while puking her guts out.”

“You truly have the tact of a pirate.” Brienne spat out, both verbally and literally, as she got the remaining vomit out of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” His voice changed, somehow. There was a softness to it now.

“I’m fine, thank you very much. Like you said, too many drinks.” She hoped that she could just smile it off and he would leave.

“I may be an idiot most of the time, but I’m not stupid.” The man didn’t even see the irony it, she realized, which made her laugh out loud. “I can tell you’re puking your guts out, at least I got a laugh outta ya.”

He let out a loud laugh that was more of a  _ har _ than anything. She wasn’t sure what made the man so infatuated with her, but in truth, it was far from flattering. He doesn’t look at me like I’m a woman, Brienne thought to herself, he looks at me like I’m a freshly roasted ham. It was true, she was sure of it, but then why was he coming out here and making sure she was okay during his own feast?

“I don’t feel well, you’ve caught me.” She didn’t want to linger on the topic. “This is your feast, my lord, don’t you think you should go enjoy it?”

“How can I do that with you out here?” Another  _ har  _ came out, as though he thought he was funnier than a fool. “Is it the food? The drinks? I ain’t seen a woman puke like that since my ol-” 

Brienne watched the realization dawn on his face. How he knew, she wasn’t sure, though she hoped she could convince him he was only grasping for straws. When she looked up, and saw him staring at her, however, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was almost pity that she saw in his eyes, but in the familiar way that a loved one looks at you when they know you are hurt.

“You’re pregnant.” It wasn’t a question, though it hung between them all the same, shouting to be acknowledged.

“N-nonsense. I am a maid, and unwed besides.” She let out a laugh, though to her ears it sounded more like a girl’s sobbing.

“Unwed, sure, but a maid? Aye, if you are then so am I.” He let out a laugh, though this one was quiet, and more of a chuckle than anything. “I saw you and the Kinglsayer. He’s gone from this world but not from your heart. I get it, but to say you’re still a maid?  _ Har _ , Gods be damned, mayhaps people do think I’m a fool.”

“You aren’t a fool, my lord.” She hadn’t meant to insult him. “It’s only, Ser Jaime is dead, and a traitor to the queen besides, should anyone learn of this baby, should  _ the Queen _ learn of this baby, my child would die.” 

There was silence for a moment, and shuffling, and for an instant, Brienne thought he had gone back to the feast, when she felt large arms around her. He was hugging her, she realized. She couldn’t remember when last someone had hugged her. Harsh and cold the wildlings were, but they were unburdened by the trappings of courtesy. Brienne stood frozen for a moment, unsure, but then she hugged him back and allowed herself to be comforted by another person for the first time in quite a while. And then the tears came, hot and heavy on her face as she allowed herself to finally feel everything.

She had only wanted to be a knight, a knight of the Kingsguard or the Queensguard perhaps. Ladyship was never for her, and it was never in her mind. The concept of being a mother, of being a woman in  _ that  _ regard, hadn’t crossed her mind since she was a girl in her father’s castle, and had never been something she had considered to be a true possibility. She had received her knighthood, and for a bit, had thought that it may be her end in the battle of Winterfell or after, though the battles had come and gone, and now there was only one Queen in the land, and Brienne was alive and a knight. Though now, she was not just a knight, and a reluctant lady. Brienne of Tarth was now an unprepared mother, alone and lost in the world.

Jaime had been her light amidst the sea of black that had been her life as she struggled to gain her own footing out in the real world. At Tarth, she had the shield of light that her lord father provided, but now, she had to fight thrice as hard as any men to even be acknowledged, and Jaime was the first to make her feel  _ human _ , make her feel as though she could be both a woman and a knight. And now he was gone, though not ripped away from her, as she almost wished she could say. Jaime Lannister, the man whom she thought had loved her, had abandoned her for Cersei. The sorrow tasted so bitter in her mouth, though she continued to cry, weeping on Tormund’s shoulders. She understood now why they named the waterfall next to the Eyrie Alyssa’s tears. She felt as though she had created a waterfall down the man’s back and could see the small pool they were creating amongst the stones at their feet.

After a time, she had no more tears, and she cried without crying. Her head began to throb and she felt her heart rate begin to go back to normal.

“There, you’re alright.” Tormund smiled at her, with a reassurance that reminded her of how Renly Baratheon once told her there was nothing wrong with her. “Every now and then we all need to let it out, or why else would the gods make us do it when we’re sad? Granted, women do it a bit more than men though I reckon your moon blood does that to ya. Can’t say I blame you, if I had to shit or piss blood for a week every moon I’d probably be crying more too.”

“No more of that to worry about, now I suppose.” And they both laughed, him roaring his  _ hars  _ and her with her bellowing laughs. 

Brienne soon found herself walking back to her chambers. Their conversation had been cut short when Tormund started throwing up from actually drinking too much. She helped the man and brought him back to the feast, and bid everyone a good evening. She wasn’t used to someone caring for her like Tormund did, only a few times had she felt a hint of it with Jaime, but never before.

The man truly cares for me, Brienne thought to herself, thankful she hadn’t said it out loud. Words like that would have tasted quite foreign on her tongue. This would be a problem for tomorrow or another time, she decided. It was late, Tormund was drunk, and Winterfell was preparing to sleep. Brienne undressed for the evening, getting into a simple sleeping gown with an undertunic to keep her warm. Tarth was almost as far south as you could go before reaching the Dornish Marches, and the cold was not something Brienne had grown used to or taken a liking to in any way.

Brienne did something then that she hadn’t done in many years. She put her hands together, closed her eyes, bowed her head, and began to pray. Mother above, protect my baby, grant mercy on it no matter what their name or station of birth may be, she thought. Father, protect it with the hand of justice, so that no evil may befall it. She asked the Smith, the Warrior, the Crone, and the Maid in turn as well. The stranger was not to be prayed to, but respected and honored, and so Brienne did as much. She wasn’t sure how long she had been at it when she heard the knocking at her chamber door, but her candle had melted a considerable amount. 

“I figured you’d still be awake.” Tormund said, opening the door just enough to put in part of his body. “You feeling any better?”

“I could ask you the same.” She laughed, sitting up straight at the desk. “You looked worse than I did, last I saw you.”

“I got that all out of my stomach, though. If you figured out a way to do the same, I’d rather not know.” There she was again, for the second time that night, laughing in a way that made her forget everything but that moment. All she could focus on was the laughter itself and the warmness that bubbled up inside her as she did it. “So what did I finally do to earn the time of day from you?”

“You stopped acting like a dog, for one.” She rolled her eyes, though the two smirked at one another, ensuring the other knew no animosity was there. “If you’d like the truth, Tormund, sometimes you just have to act appropriately. I’m not asking you to call me my lady every time I breath, but there has to be something in the middle of that and staring at me like I’m a smoked sausage.”

“Har!” She had gotten a strong laugh from him on that one. “That’s fair enough,  _ my lady _ . I suppose I’ll have to start bathing regularly to get your attention, too, eh? I’m just pulling on you, I bathe as much as most northmen” 

“I reckon I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.” She had crossed the room and put on a night robe made of sheep’s wool. “Come to the kitchens with me to get some tea, would you?”

They made their walk through the halls of Winterfell, down to the large kitchens where only a token staff would be working it through the night, preparing food for tomorrow that had to be handled ahead of time. 

“Why aren’t you getting any sleep tonight?” She asked him, and saw his face grow more tired.

“I’m not looking forward to this trip. We’re to map and scope out the north and come back and tell Lady Sansa what we should do with it all, and in exchange I become the Lord of the lands beyond the wall. I’ll be the second most powerful man in the north after Lady Sansa herself but I don’t care for those things, I never have. I’ve half a mind to just go up there and stay there, and not say a damn thing to anyone. Jon Snow and Mance Rayder taught me better than that, though. There is a greater purpose to everything going on in this world, whatever you may think it is. We’ve got to work together now, and that means the whole North.” He looked to be making himself some drink of his own that required goat’s milk while Brienne was making herself a warm spiced tea. “Eastwatch has been destroyed, there’s no need for the other castles to be manned, and even then they hardly are manned. The land beyond is good for much. It’s good for people, for trees, for animals, and I know you southerners don’t think so, but I’ve seen plenty of farms up north.”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lord. Might I add, perhaps something could be built around the ruins of eastwatch in order to be a bridge between the two lands that were once separate.” Brienne smiled at him, and he looked as though he liked the idea, by the look on his face. “I just think right now, it’s important that the peoples of the North do their best to stick together and grow together. Hell, and why take up land with a castle or a village that could be farmland?”

The two of them shared a tired laugh, drinking the finished products of what the two had made respectively. They saw the sky beginning to fade to a purple as the moon began to set. 

“I’m going to need a Lady for whatever castle I end up ruling, you know?” He smiled at her, and it wasn’t in a way that he was trying to seduce her, but with the same tenderness he had given her earlier.

Eventually, Brienne found herself back in her room, putting on her castle garb once more and following Maester Wolkan to Bran’s chambers where they helped the boy dress and get ready for the day ahead. By then, the sun had risen and was casting its bright yellow glow upon them all. Bran was soon dressed and they all broke their fast in the great hall, though Brienne knew that outside the walls of that hall, Tormund and his company were leaving the gates of Winterfell. Thankful for the lack of windows, however, Brienne noticed the quiet in the hall as loudly as she would’ve noticed the presence of their shouts. Breakfast was a blur for her, who soon noticed the bustle as Bran and the rest departed the hall, her pushing his chair along once she noticed what was happening. 

She didn’t have to ask, Brienne knew where Bran wanted to go, and they made their path through the courtyards of Winterfell to the Godswood. Winterfell’s reconstruction had finished, the walls restored and reinforced, and the towers restored and rebuilt as well, including the broken tower that had been broken well before everything. Brienne admired Sansa’s intent to restore the North to glory, and believed in her ability to do so. More people filled the castle these days, Brienne noticed in the recent weeks since Sansa had left. At first, there had been some from the Riverlands and Vale and even a bit from other regions in Westeros that were coming to the North in the hopes of having a quiet life away from the commotion of Westeros, though now many of them simply found themselves crowding into Winterfell or Winter Town or White Harbor or some other place. They needed the people all the same, Brienne thought to herself.

The tower archway stood at least eight feet over Brienne’s head as they passed under it. The godswood was like a small forest and now that the snows were melting, Brienne was beginning to see it comes to life. The pool at the base of the heart tree was steaming and was fully exposed now. Some had taken to swimming in it lately, though wouldn’t dare with her there now. 

“I hope the morning sickness passes for you, soon.” Brienne stopped immediately, almost knocking the boy out of the chair by accident. “It’ll be a boy, you know.”

Brienne felt herself grow cold as she looked at Brandon Stark, the boy she was charged to serve and protect. She had heard of him being the three eyed crow though to hear him talk so nonchalantly about the lives of others, as though there was no meaning to it. Like they were letters on a page. It was sickening to her.

“What did you say?” 

“I know you are pregnant, and I know that it will be a boy.” Bran smiled at her then, and for a second it almost looked genuine, like the boy beneath it was trying to crack through. Today was a bad day for him, she noticed. He was a bit paler than he had been yesterday, and looked a bit thinner as well. There was always a weird energy around him that Brienne could feel, though it was only around him, and today, it felt more bleak, somehow.

“Thank you, my lord. I wish you would talk with a bit more emotion to it, but thank you.” She wouldn’t have talked to any other lord so boldly but this boy was less a noble lord and more something else. Something she didn’t quite understand. “Perhaps I’ll name him Jasyn, for his father. What do you think?”

“I think that would be nice. How would the Queen take it, however?” Brienne had of course already thought of this, which only furthered her dread. “I do believe that Daenerys will legitimize the babe, never as a Lannister, but as a Tarth, perhaps.”

Her heart fluttered. She didn’t know if Bran was speaking in riddles and prophecy or if this was just him speculating like a person, but she had needed to hear it more than she knew. 

“As long as the babe is safe and loved, it is all I care for, bastard or lordling. After all we’ve been through, what else can any of us ask for?

  
  



	6. Arianne I

Arianne

I

“Prince Quentyn Martell has returned to Sunspear and restored peace to Dorne in his father’s name.” She dropped the scroll at her mother's feet, so she would have to bend down to pick it up. “How do you believe that has come to be, mother?”

Mellario looked at her with her dark, Norvoshi eyes. The woman had never been warm, so long as Arianne had known her, and now, she looked at Arianne with nothing but icy contempt.

“Regardless of how it came to be, what would you have me do? Take up arms against one of my children?” She looked at Arianne with something she wasn’t quite sure of; disgust, indifference, contempt? “This isn’t one of your fights with your cousins or brother you had as a girl, you’re a grown woman and he is a grown man. I am no prince or princess of anything. Do you want money? I may have enough in all my wealth to buy you a hundred swords perhaps.”

Arianne looked at her feet. She’s right, she thought to herself. There was no point in making this Mellario’s concern. Parents could not choose sides when their children fought. 

“As you will, mother.” She kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her. “I will see you soon, I hope.”

Norvos was a strange city, and though she had been here for nearly ten years, she still found so much about it to be foreign. She was thankful and fortunate to be a highborn lady and so she was not bound to the ridiculous lifestyle of the Norvoshi. Arianne Martell would pitch herself into the ocean before allowing a bell to control her life. Though, ultimately, the city had been her home, whether or not she liked it. She and Quentyn were too strong-willed for their father. He sent them off to be wards, as was custom in nearly all of Westeros besides Dorne. And when the time came for them to come home, he had grown too fond of his gentle and patient Trystane, and they were told to stay in Norvos and Yronwood. 

Doran was not a man of strong principles and action. He was passive, and would only act upon that which made his life less eventful. It hurt her to learn of her father’s death, but it was meant to be, she knew that now. The people of Dorne needed their princess, and the world was beginning to turn. Whispers were being heard all along the river Rhoyne that some who still boasted the green blood had begun to practice their water magics again. Several villages and lands that had been salted and burned by the Valyrians were now beginning to become fertile. Nonsense, her mother had told her, the lands likely just had farmers with a bit of sense about them finally. Mellario was sure of it, the water magic of the Rhoyne was as much of a flight of fancy as the warlocks of the east and the alchemists of westeros. Though if dragons lived again, and tales of the Others spread once more from Westeros, why not other magics?

Her belongings had been loaded into chests and carts and carriages that functioned as storage. On the northern wall, near the western corner, the Dornish men who had accompanied her to Norvos and had come to join her in recent years would be awaiting her as would the Norvoshi men her mother was providing to ensure she made safe passage home. They were to be going to Braavos first, the travels were much safer to go North to the foggy city and then sail from there. Pentos was not safe these days, she had heard. The cheesemonger Illyrio Mopatis had been hiring so many sellswords that he appeared to have a small army inside of the city’s walls. That and the alleged host camped in the Disputed Lands didn’t make her too keen on the idea of land travel in Essos these days. 

“There you are, princess. The caravan will be ready in three hours, I’m told.” Gerold Dayne smiled up at her, flashing his white teeth that shone like his silvery locks of hair, divided by the single column of raven black hair. 

“Thank you, my lord.” She allowed him to kiss her hand, as was befit a lady. And as was not befit a lady, she let him embrace her and pull her in for a kiss. Her sole companion was sometimes the only one who made her feel alive. There were not many times that Arianne had felt alive; when she was riding a horse, when she was fucking her lover, Darkstar, and when she fantasized about herself ruling Dorne, sitting in the Sunspear throne. In some of her deeper dreams, she imagined herself being Queen, sitting on the Iron Throne herself or being married to the King, it made no matter, the thought was a flight of fancy all the same. 

“How did it go with your mother?” His dark purple eyes always drew her in, they were unlike the other Dayne’s eyes, his were dark, like swirling pools of a deep red wine. “I would imagine she was angry you waited until the last moment to tell her.”

“She didn’t mention that actually, she was more wroth at the suggestion of taking up arms against her  _ own son _ .” She said the last two words with a bitterness. “Were the roles reversed I doubt she would care so much about her  _ own daughter _ .”

“Are you cold?” Darkstar asked her, and Arianne realized she had begun to lightly shiver. “I’ll send for something warmer from your things.”

As he walked off, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to warm up. The maester had at first thought perhaps it was a false winter, though soon realized it was the flash of spring which was false. The weather had turned quickly in Norvos, it was as high as The Neck, which was further north than Arianne had ever been. The cold wasn’t to her liking, she thought to herself, she missed the hot, dry air in Dorne. 

Norvos was a beautiful city, she couldn’t deny that. They had been staying in her grandfather’s palace, though in truth, the palaces and manses here looked more like temples. The black goat hung everywhere, staring deeper than she cared for. Each manse had a long winding path leading up to it with an elegant garden adorning each side of the stoned pathway. The sunlight shined brightly on the stones, casting their white light back up in her face at moments as she walked along and began to enter the upper district of the city.

It was a grim place, where the people of town walked quietly along the paths. There were markets and there were men and priests, though all conducted their affairs so quietly that there were only mutters and whispers as the large noble retinue made its way to the base of the hill. The Upper Hill of Norvos, where the nobility and high priests and magisters of the city resided, was a large hill that sprawled nearly three hundred feet above the lower city, which could almost be heard even from high above, so lively were they. Her retinue was making their way down the hill, she could see. Many Dornish ladies and men had come to her in Norvos, to “attend” to her, though now, Arianne thought perhaps they knew of this conflict already, and simply chose who they were supporting. Though it did not sit well with her that she had to figure this out on her own, rather than be told.

One of the men brought her a fur coat that she wrapped around her body, thanking the man and sending him on way. She mounted her horse, a beautiful red stallion that her mother had given her, with legs like a racing horse. The way to Sunspear is long from here, she thought to herself, and I hardly remember the place. She began to catch up with the host that was traveling home with her. There were knights and Dornish spearmen mounted on horses and donkeys as they made their way down the hill. Scattered amongst them were wagons, carriages, and more men with more horses. Her carriage was the largest, carved from a dark mahogany wood and adorned with small painted suns and spears as well as spears standing tall from all four corners of the carriage, with sculpted mahogany vipers wrapped around them.

“Halt for the princess!” She heard one of them shout as the carriage stopped. “Right this way, princess.”

She was assisted into the tall carriage by two of her men and walked over to the large bed inside of it. On one end of it was a large bed, though it had no frame or canopy, it was a plush feather bed that was stacked with pillows and blankets of Myrish velvet. Arianne allowed herself to sink in, not having sat down since she awoke nearly twelve hours past.

“You look absolutely delicious wrapped in all that velvet.” The voice scared her, and Arianne sat up straight in the bed, looking to the opposite side of the carriage where a man sat on the bench that was built into the wall, his upper half in the shadows. “Though personally, you know I’ve always liked you better without anything.”

“Gerold.” She let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me half to death.”

“I thought you told me that fear was part of the excitement?” He furrowed his eyebrow, leaning forward into the light so she could see his silvery hair and dark eyes. “Or did I take it too far?”

She stood and crossed the room in mere moments and found herself in his lap, with her legs on either side of him. She kissed along his neck up and his jaw before he grabbed her by the throat and brought his mouth to hers, their tongues beginning to move together in a dance of lust. Before she knew it, they were both undressing him as was so common for them the past year or so. Some time later, they found themselves wrapped in the furs of the bed in the carriage, when they heard a knock at the door.

“We are nearing the base of the hill, princess.” Whoever it was walked away, not lingering unnecessarily. 

“I do believe that’s their way of telling us to put on clothes.” Arianne laughed in the space between their lips. 

The two dressed themselves, though got distracted a few times in between by one another, and soon were making their way out of the carriage. The high hill of Norvos loomed above them, dark and quiet and now finally behind her. They had come down the hill many times over the past years, whether to visit the lower city or to leave Norvos to visit somewhere else, but now, when Arianne looked back, she knew it was for the last time. She smiled to herself and turned back, walking with her party through the streets of the city now. 

Much like the upper city of Norvos, the lower city was scattered with buildings that looked like temples but could have been homes or workshops or actual temples, as was the building style. Others were strewn about and erected here and there, making a somewhat orderly but chaotic assembly of streets that spread out across the city. Gerold was ahead of her now, riding side by side with Lord Alacard Allyrion, son of the late lady Delonne. He looked like a salty Dornishman, Arianne thought to herself, though every one of his family member she had met, looked like a stony Dornishman. 

The ringing of the bells took her from her thought. This was the bell that told them it was time to eat, she could hear. Over the years, the bells had become a familiar sound and it was not difficult to discern which was which. The commotion began in the city as the people began to rush to and fro. Children ran about the streets in groups, laughing and shouting while mothers worried behind them. Serving girls and cooks rushed about with pots and pans still steaming and filling the air with the smell of meats and stew and vegetables and the like. 

“Excuse me.” She heard in Valyrian to her right and looked over to see a small girl, of what age she couldn’t say. “Do you have any money? I am so hungry.”

Arianne reached for her purse and pulled out two Norvoshi coins to hand to the girl, though when she leaned down to do so, a horde of noises rushed her. She looked up and saw one of the trading caravans that regularly passed through the lower city. This looked to be one of the Jade Sea, filled with goods from all over: spices from Qarth, saffron and jade from Yi Ti, and pearls from Leng. Jugglers, dancers, and mummers were in a procession at the front, one of them wearing the squirrel collar that so many of the women here liked to wear. They also shaved themselves bare and wore wigs, Arianne thought to herself, not all customs were hers to adopt.

When she turned to the girl, she was gone, and so was Arianne’s purse. The girl had disappeared without a trace, and with so many alleyways and streets sprawling out before her, Arianne and her party could not possibly pursue the child. Hopefully, she will feed her family, Arianne thought to herself, it was the only solace she could find in it. She told Darkstar what happened a few moments later as she picked up her pace and made her way further ahead.

“I have fallen victim to a pickpocket, it seems. How are you faring?” She was only trying to jest, but Gerold’s face only had concern. “I am fine, it was only a child. I was going to give her a few coins to eat and was distracted, and when I turned back, she was gone, and so was my money.”

“As long as you are okay.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, looking at her with what could be love, though Arianne didn’t know. “That is all that matters to me, princess.”

The city began to slope down as they neared the east wall of the city, being built downhill at this point. The cluster of houses and shops gave way to gardens and markets, manses and halls, temples and towers. The same pale stone was used throughout most of the city, causing either the sunlight or moonlight to gleam on it like it was water. The city was growing even livelier than it had before, and why not, they were not scared anymore. The Dothraki were gone and they had never been happier. 

They had heard Daenerys had taken Slaver’s Bay and for a long time, there was no word, until nearly three years later, they heard that she had taken the Dothraki and sailed west. Since then, Volantis and Qohor and Norvos had sent out men to begin mapping out the grasslands and seeing what they could take, where they could colonize. She had heard word of the small men of Ib making their landing on the northern coasts as well. At least they would not be here to rape and raid and enslave, she thought to herself, but at what cost, now that the powers of the east are free to take the grasslands and swell their own power. The game of thrones was played everywhere, sadly, just in a hundred different languages.

That was what she was doing now, she realized. She was going to Dorne and she was going to play the game, and she would beat Quentyn. The lords of Dorne would flock to her, and the queen would understand her plights. They couldn’t possibly think Quentyn stood a chance, could they?

The east gate sprawled before them, towering over Arianne at nearly four times her height, they were large gates built from the dark wood of the forest of Qohor and were wrought with iron to reinforce them when closed. The gates latched on to two tall pillars which seemed to be extensions of the city’s walls themselves, chiseled from a black stone that was found commonly throughout the city, to fit the appearance the bearded priests wanted to present. The gates had been opened already, and the line was making its way through, she could see, and a rush began to fill her heart, a flutter as though she was a girl again, cliff diving with her uncle Oberyn and his girls. A wistfulness passed over her as she thought of those she considered her true family. Her father and brothers had never gotten along with her, she only had good memories of Trystane and that was only because the boy was too much of a spineless fool to see the obvious contempt thick in the air between Arianne, Doran, and Quentyn. Though, that was of the past now, they were all gone, and it was only Arianne and Quentyn, and this was the game he had decided to play. 

“We are loading the last provisions in to the back of the train, princess, we expect that the journey to Lorath Bay will take us a week if we make good time, a fortnight if we do not.” 

“Thank you,” She nodded at him and turned back to Gerold, who was grinning at her. “Are you ready to go home, my lord?”

“More than you know, princess.”

  
  



	7. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who gave feedback on the chapter. I decided to rewrite it and do agree that the idea of Jon having a one-night stand was OOC and contrived and have changed it. Thanks again and I hope everyone likes the change and how the story will be moving forward

Jon

I

The dark red sails hadn’t been visible until they had entered the mouth of Blackwater Bay itself. Under the dark of night, they had crept in and by sunrise, Jon found himself on the beach surrounded by a variety of soldiers, with archers scattered along the rocks prepared for any surprises. Daenerys had sent ravens out, Jon knew, but not so long ago that ships from Volantis would be here by now. No, these people had come of their own accord, and Jon sorely hoped he would be pleased by the end of this.

The ships began to get closer than most they had seen and began to gracefully pour out into the small boats that would row them ashore. He saw at least a thousand men clad in orange robes that looked like billowing flames when they moved, covered in ornate armor that shined in the sun with gold and crimson and oranges so bright Jon could see them from several yards away. There were others, in a dark red armor that was of a simpler build, that looked more like squires and scribes than they did soldiers, Jon thought to himself. They were the ones who prepared the boats, lowered them from the ships and assisted the fiery soldiers with their flaming spears abord and were now escorting the priests and priestesses robed in red.

He thought of Melisandre, and her pale skin, and her fiery red hair. Whereas Melisandre  _ was _ the fire of R’hllor, these men who came before him were only the banner-bearers, Jon knew, though if that was better or worse, he did not know. Behind him were the Northmen and Valemen that had come south with him in a time long forgotten, though now there were swords from Driftmark and Massey’s Hook at their back. Gendry had ridden north with a fresh host of knights and squires and archers and footsoldiers from the Stormlands, most provided by Lord Selwyn Tarth who bore a strong resemblance to his daughter, who had impressed Jon. Many from the reach had flocked to them quickly as well, as had Edmure Tully and his men. Lord Arryn had sent word that they were making the journey from the Eyrie and sent apologies if it took too long, though no word had come from the west. Sansa and her men, and the Prince of Dorne were also taking their time to arrive, though they had been told to expect the Greyjoy ships within the next few days.

“You stand in the presence of Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light.” A man declared in front of her in poor westerosi before quickly standing aside to allow her to pass through.

This woman was beautiful, though unlike Melisandre’s dark beauty that was so like a shadow calling you to see what was hiding beneath its veil of darkness. This woman’s beauty burned bright, like the dancing tendrils of a fire licking at wood as it burned everything to ash. She glowed, though it seemed almost like it may be unnatural, as much of Melisandre’s practices were.

“I am pleased to see you again, my lady.” Tyrion said, with a smile that was likely false. “We are in even worse fortune than the last time we spoke.”

“I have seen this in the flames. Westeros is a burnt woman, now,” The woman chuckled to herself. “Now that she has burned, she can be reborn from the ashes, and we are here to help. I am glad that you still know the way, it would be unfortunate for you to go as your friend, Lord Varys, did.”

She reached out and touched his arm, though jerked her hand back quickly as though she had touched fire.

“A fire burns in you, though something else as well,” She took his hands in hers before he could protest. “The lord of light has plans for you, Aegon.” 

Jon could only stare at her and watch as she walked away, followed by her procession of priests and priestesses, and soldiers. He turned to Tyrion and Davos who looked just as in awe as he was. Tyrion was aware of his identity, he knew, but Davos was not.

“Pardon, Aegon?” It was expected, and Jon couldn’t lie to the man.

“Aye, I am Jon still, but my mother named me Aegon.” 

“And who was your mother, exactly?” Davos raised an eyebrow, looking like he desperately wanted a drink.

“Lyanna Stark,” He took a deep breath, finally telling someone who wasn’t family felt freeing. “And my father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Well fuck me.” Davos muttered to himself something after that which Jon couldn’t understand. “You’re certainly full of surprises,  _ your grace _ .” 

Jon scowled at him which only earned a laugh from Tyrion and Davos. He didn’t want to be king, he  _ wasn’t _ a king, not truly. Daenerys was the queen,  _ his _ queen. Not only that, she was his aunt, and his betrothed, and the mother of his children. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, truly. It was not uncommon, and he would not pretend he was some great exception to that, nor would he pretend that she didn’t still make his cock stir when he saw her.

As the rest of the men got off of the Volantene ships and made their way into the city, they began to follow them for a bit with their small host at their backs. The two groups split off once they reached Visenya’s hill, Jon and his company making their way up while the red crowd proceeded to what could only be the queen. How could they know where she was, Jon thought to himself, nobody told her. Though he was living proof of the magic of R’hllor, and he didn’t want to think much about it or question it.

The hill had become far too crowded recently and so they were forced to push some further down the hill, allowing only for the nobles and their immediate council, guards, and maesters. They had been receiving lords Rosby and Rykker, Bar Emmon and Baratheon. Tarth and Estermont, Dondarrion and Swann, Oakheart, Beesbury, Dayne, Fowler, all of their banners strung up amongst the sea of tents, the flags hanging from poles staked into the ground. Edmure Tully and much of his bannermen had arrived a few days past, with the most aid anyone had provided so far, though they hoped when the Redwyne and Hightower ships came up there would be more aid.

There, in his tent, was a tall woman with dark ringlets that went down her shoulders, wearing a long gown of a light purple silk. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, and narrow, as though she was staring hard at whatever she looked upon. 

“I was informed of your presence, my lady, but not your name, my apologies.” He kissed her hand and gave her a formal bow of respect. 

“My name is Saera, my lord, I am the daughter of the Archon of Tyrosh. My father sent me here to represent our city’s interests in this great council so that the Iron Throne and Tyrosh may be friends once more.” Her smile was not a warm one, it was  _ formal _ , was the best word Jon could think of.

“I am pleased to receive you, my lady.” He resumed his normal demeanor, abandoning the one he had learned in the south, the one that the southern lords lived by. “I will have my men give you proper accommodations for your station.”

And with that, he left her, having done what was necessary and nothing more. He had already offended her once by not seeing her for so long. Her ship had arrived before sunset the previous day, but he had been passed out, after drinking too much. That was the routine that he found he had fell into, when he didn’t have to be the Warden of the North. That was the routine he was falling into now, knowing he had nothing left to do for the morning, and wanting desperately to fix the throbbing in his head.

In the area of the city still standing, there were a few areas where drinks were sold along the streets. The highborn and lowborn alike were coming to and fro, so long as they had the coin. When he saw the children running through the streets, he winced, thinking of his own growing in Dany’s stomach. How could I possibly think I can do this, Jon thought to himself, I can’t be a father, I can’t even be a king or a lord properly. She would not even see him, she did not trust him anymore. How could they be parents and wed and rule together if she would not even allow him to be in the same room as her. She hadn’t said anything about the marriage, though he knew by the look in her eyes that she agreed.

And so he found himself, for the eighth day now, drinking mug after mug of ale in the streets, talking to some of his Northmen and resting with passersby, highborn and low. He had to prepare for the council, later, he was informed, and soon regretted the drinks, though permitted himself one more. That one swiftly became four more and soon he was walking along the street of steel with a group of men clad in white and purple. They were led by their lord, Edric, who was a younger man, perhaps Arya’s age, with fair blond hair almost like Dany’s and dark purples eyes unlike her bright violet ones. His sister, the lady Fiona was not unlike her brother, with eyes like black amethysts from Asshai and her hair spilling down her shoulders and back like liquid sunlight, a pale white gold that was not quite Valyrian. 

The Daynes were an old house, tracing their blood back to before even the coming of the First Men. Legend said that as a comet fell across the sky, the first Daynes followed it and built their home, Starfall on the very island that the comet had struck, and forged their greatsword Dawn from the stone of the comet itself. Dawn didn’t hang from the young Lord Edric’s belt, only steel with an ornate silver pommel, engraved with the image of a star falling down from the hilt toward the blade, with a dark stone set in its place to represent the comet. 

“What do you think, my lord?” Fiona asked him, and he became embarrassingly aware that they had been talking while he was staring. 

“About what?” The words came out in almost one word, and Jon found his ears reddening deeper, a burning setting in. 

“We were saying that perhaps now that King’s Landing is in this state, the Queen will desire to move her capital elsewhere.” Fiona was kind for that, he thought. “The maesters and singers have always said that King’s Landing was one of Aegon the Conqueror’s poorer choices. Why not at Dragonstone, or Oldtown, or even Harrenhal?”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along to her, though honestly, I think the queen might want to stay here. Maybe now the city could be built properly.” 

“Wouldn’t that be an idea. I like the way your mind works, my lord.” Lord Edric laughed and the party continued walking up to the Hill of Rhaenys, where the Dragonpit was being turned into the site of the Great Council. 

Lady Fiona fell back and began to walk alongside Jon as the others continued ahead. She took his arm, not in an unladylike way. 

“I expect the queen will be naming you Jon Stark, soon enough, don’t you?” She adjusted her dress, lowering it a bit to show off her breasts more. “You’ll be needing a lady, I expect.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a bit, hoping he didn’t offend her.

“That’s looking a bit far in the future, my lady, and I imagine a woman of your station would not care for a legitimized bastard.” 

“You are not just any bastard, my lord.” She smirked as she spoke and then walked forward, leaving Jon feeling dizzier than he had before. 

The rest of the Street of Sisters was a straight walk, thankfully for Jon, as he began to feel his balance slip. Looking up at the hill of Rhaenys nearly made him throw up as his head began to spin further. The Dayne procession began to walk up the hill and he followed suit, seeing as hundreds were on the hill, setting up the necessities for the council. There were carpenters and masons getting the seats in working order so that they could seat as many as possible, and hundreds of squires and lords’ menn were stringing up banners, preparing for where this lord and that lord planned on sitting. There were well over a hundred banners, with the Targaryen banner looming largest of all, and the Stark and Greyjoy banners were beside it, smaller than the dragon banner though larger than all the others.

A dais had been erected directly across from the entrance to the dragonpit, at what might be considered the head of the arena where the Queen and her council were having seats built for them worthy of their station. Jon drank from his skin of water, not quite sure of when he had gotten it or who had given it to him. His vision still blurred though he thought perhaps it was getting a bit better, though his balance had gone to shit. 

“There you are.” Tyrion sounded annoyed as he approached Jon, eyeing him up and down as though he had spots. “You’re drunk.”

Jon’s ears burned bright red as he realized that Tyrion was an equal politically, but this man was still as old as his Uncle Benjen had been, and somehow it felt as though he was being scolded by a member of his family. 

“Aye, I’m drunk.” He had not been raised to lie, and if there was one thing he had been holding on to lately for strength, it was his upbringing, and the man it had made him. “And what of it? I’m not a child.”

“No, but you are one of the Great Lords of Westeros, still, and to some, even a King.” The small man’s brows furrowed. “Is this how you want the people to see you? Is this how you want Sansa to see you when she arrives. She’s only a week away!” 

“The Others take Sansa.” He muttered, turning to walk toward the dais, thinking of broken vows. 

“Sansa is your sister, well your cousin in truth, but has been raised as your sister alongside you and has been that to you in heart til recently. Why would you say something like that?”

“She swore a vow!” His voice rose at the end, becoming a shout that caused many to look, which made Jon lower his voice in turn. “She swore a vow before the heart tree of Winterfell. Our father lived his life in dishonor to keep this secret, for no gain other than fulfilling his vow to my mother. She broke that vow, she made to me, to her  _ family _ . Simply because she didn’t  _ like _ Daenerys, and refused to bend the knee. Why is she so sure I would allow that? What if I do become King? Why does she think I would not want Winterfell as a part of my realm?”

Tyrion’s face was moving constantly as he studied Jon, contemplating every word with a thick layer of uncertainty. Jon, on the other hand, was spinning. The bout of rage had made his heart begin to beat so loudly he could hear it. Jon had no family left, in truth, none but Ghost. It had been nearly eight years now since he had left Winterfell for the first time, back when he had a family. He knew the household and its guard of Winterfell, he knew Maester Lewin, even his step mother Catelyn. There was his uncle Benjen and his brothers and his sisters, and even Theon. His father had mattered to him most of all. The man who made Jon feel as though he was worth something, as though there was something about him that made him a more unique flake of snow than all the other millions. Now they were dead, all of those at Winterfell, even the direwolves, Catelyn, Robb, Rickon, Benjen, and Eddard, worst of all. Now, he had only Sansa, Arya, and Bran. 

Though all unrecognizable, Sansa resembled herself the closest of what he remembered. She was firm in her beliefs, and even firmer in her drive to get what she wanted. Now, this was causing more damage than anything as Sansa Stark was plowing a path and all be damned who got in her way. She wouldn’t stop until the North was free, he knew this, but what price would they all have to pay by the end of it? Arya was still herself in many ways, she was still lively and small and easy to spark a flame in. Though now, there was a darkness to Arya. It was as though death itself lived in her, slowly rotting her. She didn’t have the same joy in her, he realized. Now, when he looked in her lies the light had gone out. He had met many broken men in his years, broken by war and famine and other terrors, and Arya had become one, Jon knew.

Bran was not just broken, he was  _ gone _ . There was no Bran left. It took all he had to not cry when he saw the boy for the first time again at Winterfell when he arrived with Dany. Bran had stared at him so blankly, as though he wasn’t even there. He looked at Daenerys with more information for fuck’s sake, Jon thought to himself, is all I have now truly Ghost and the child in Daenerys’ womb? And that same empty man was who I’ll have to abdicate the title of Warden of the North to, Jon thought, him or his sister, Cersei the Second. 

“Jon, you need to rest.” Tyrion put a hand on him, looking at him with sad wide eyes. “It is not too early, and I will make sure that this is arranged properly.”

Jon almost protested before turning to Tyrion’s gaze and seeing the sun begin to set on Blackwater Bay. Jon was beginning to have thoughts too dark for his liking. The drinking was getting to him, as was his head as these feelings remained inside, threatening to burst. He drank from his skin of water again, longing for times when his family made decisions that he did not have to feel this way about. The Others take them for making me choose between my honor and my love for them, Jon thought.  _ Love is the death of duty _ . 

“Aye, you may be right.” Jon admitted, lowering his head. “Thank you, Tyrion.”

Jon fell asleep the moment he laid down in his tent after the short walk to it, waking some hours later, as a cold breeze came into his tent and chilled him awake. He sat up in his bed, his head throbbing, though the cold was worse and he was grabbing more coverings for his bed. Their allies had started to bring in warmer clothes and bedding as of late, after the declaration of false winter, which now had scorned him harshly as he had no cover to ward off the chill. His blood was of the North, he would be used to the cold again before he knew it.

He had slept for nearly half a day, however, and begun to stir, drawing a bath for himself and sinking into it, letting the steaming water melt away the aches that came with sleeping off being drunk. Jon felt himself growing wistful once more, thinking of Dany and her soft violet eyes. Was it wrong to think these things? To feel this way? He had felt cold and empty when Melisandre had brought him back, something in him had not felt complete anymore. A part of Jon had died with him and it was only when he met Daenerys that he felt that a fire had been lit inside of him again. He loved her, that he couldn’t deny, he thought as he washed the soaps from his hair and his body, though is it  _ right _ ? 

Contemplations of morality began to melt from his mind as the throbbing in his head began to peak, causing his vision to nearly blur. He poured himself a cup of wine and drank quickly, letting it run down his throat like a torrent of blood. It did nothing at first, and he began to dress himself as best he could, stepping out of the tub and drying himself off. The sun was beginning to rise above the horizon, painting the sky orange and yellow and Jon found himself missing the way that the sun would rise and set on the wall, casting its glow across the ice crystals. 

The city was beginning to come alive with the come of morning, as the birds began to sing and squawk above the bay and the noise of laughter and conversation was beginning to grow below. Jon was thankful for this, to know that some semblance of normalcy remained, after all he had seen. It has been about ten minutes or so, Jon thought, and the wine had not helped much with the throbbing in my head. He crossed his tent and poured another cup of dark wine. 

“Your grace?” The voice startled Jon, and he began to choke on the wine that he had been swallowing, dropping the rest on the floor along with the cup. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you, I had only meant to see if you were okay. Yesterday, many saw you looking ill and leave early, my lord.”

Lady Arabella Velaryon was an older woman that seemed to Jon like the type of woman he wished Catelyn could have been, one he would have liked to have been around while growing up. She wore a simple gown with the familiar seafoam green of her late husband and son’s house, with turquoise embedded in her necklace, rings, and earrings.

“It is okay, my lady, I hadn’t seen you, I’m sorry.” The second cup of wine had helped with his head at least. “Thank you for coming to see me, I am fine.”

“Well, you look fine physically, but something is wrong in here.” She pointed to her temple, giving him a kind smile. “I come as an ally and hopefully a friend, my lord. None of your family is here, though I have heard that your sister should be here soon. That will be good, but until then, I would like you to know that I understand much of the pains you have experienced. War has devastated our lives, and many of us suffer well before that.”

She was being genuine, he realized. Though she didn’t seem as much like a mother now, he realized, more like an aunt or an older sister, if he had had either. 

“Thank you, Lady Arabella,” Jon gave her a smile, which he imagined was a sad one. “There is a lot on my mind, I won’t lie to you. You can sit if you would like.”

He gestured to the seat that he had sat down in, by the makeshift fire that was a bit to the left of the entrance of the tent. There were other seats around it and she took the one opposite him.

“Would you like any water or wine, my lady?”

“Water, please.” He began to make his way to the tray where he poured them both cups of water in odd ornate goblets that had been found in the manse, with Blackfyre emblems on them. “I imagine that the future of the country is not the largest concern in your mind.”

He sat up straight at that, suddenly feeling bad.  _ Look at me _ , he thought to himself,  _ I’m feeling sorry for myself having to marry the queen, when so many have lost everything, with nothing but the knowledge that they get to live to move forward with. _

“You would be right, my lady.” He took a drink of his water, though the cold of the air only made it harshly cold as it slid down his throat. “Is that wrong?”

“It might be,” She laughed, also sipping at her own water. “Though if so, all of us are wrong. We’re only human, my lord, folly is our nature.”

“How can something truly be right, when there is such a heavy cost? How can it be the best choice when I have to struggle with guilt about it?”

“Life is not easy, Jon.” She hadn’t asked permission for such informality, but Lady Arabella didn’t strike him as the type who asked for permission for much in life. “Let’s say that you are sailing out on the water and you come across a tight bullet. Let’s assume there is a storm and as you are trying to leave the bay, another rushes beside you, also trying to leave, and across from you both, is another ship racing in. You are going to crash, there is no question of that. However on the ship sailing in, is only a skeleton crew, perhaps fifty men at most. On the ship rushing to leave, though, is nearly three hundred men, women, and children, all departing fast to head to some land. You will be crashing into one of them, and you will be sinking whichever ship you crash in to, killing them all. Which do you choose?” 

She sat back and drank deep, almost smirking at him as though the point spoke for itself, though in truth, Jon was just horrified.

“How can you make a choice like that?”

“The same way you will have to make the choice once I walk out of this tent.” She took his hand in hers, and for a moment, Jon allowed himself to just sit with how nice it was to just talk to someone, after so long without being able to. “The point is, Jon, is that there is no true choice. You are only one man, and all you can do is what you think will cause the least amount of harm, or alternatively what will benefit you the most.”

She rose then, crossing to the table and pouring herself a cup of wine.

“Now, your immediate concern is the Great Council coming up soon. You are still seen as the Lord of Winterfell and you are the Queen’s closest man aside from her Hand and her Unsullied, therefore it is your responsibility to be up there arranging this.” She gave him a teasing smile and set down her cup, walking out of the tent with a small curtsy before leaving

  
  



	8. Daenerys III

Daenerys

III

Maester Melwys nearly had to strap her to the bed, but Daenerys finally allowed herself rest and had slept for the better part of every day for the past fortnight. A storm of dreams had swirled through her head in those days and nights. She dreamt of dragons flying high above a volcano, bursting forth like a flock of birds in the ashy skies. An army of wolves raced forth on a battlefield of ice and snow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. A babe suckled at his mother’s breast, though as the sun beamed upon them, the babe cast no shadow. A sea spread out before her, with drowned men rising to the surface in hundreds and thousands, all forming piles as the seas began to recede and laid the soil bare for all to see. 

A burning heart began to burn brighter and larger until it was so bright that Daenerys couldn’t look at it any longer. Though when she turned, a chill swept through her, stiffening her on the spot as she looked at a heart frozen and cracked.  _ The heart of winter _ , she thought to herself, unsure of where she had heard the name. Loud crashes came from above her and she saw a storm rolling in, though the lightning was blue and the clouds white, and it was snow that fell, not rain, though the thunder and lightning stayed all the same. 

“Your grace.” She heard clearly, and that was when Daenerys awoke in her bed.

Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to the door, seeing it barely cracked, with what was likely Melwys behind it.

“Come in.” She called out, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Pardon, your grace, I did not want to wake you, but I expect you’d have been more wroth if I had let you sleep.” He seemed nervous, though in a good way?

“What is it, maester?” She began to push herself up on her elbows, her silvery locks spilling off the side of the bed. 

“A red priestess from Volantis has come, she says she has brought the power of R’hllor to support you and it appears she is true, your grace.” The man chuckled to himself. “She has brought a thousand armed soldiers, no more and no less, with fourteen priests and priestesses following her, and another six hundred serving men for her and her people.”

Dany’s eyes lit up at first, excited as she saw more help coming, wanting to bless it as help from R’hllor. Daenerys was not that foolish, however. She had only sent word three weeks past, almost four now, which was certainly a bit past, but if they had left when they had received her letter, she should still be waiting on them, for at least a few months longer, she would imagine.

“Send for handmaidens please, I’ll need to be washed and clothed and my hair will need braiding if I plan on seeing anyone. A queen must don her rabbit ears.”

“Rabbit ears, your grace?” 

“Don’t worry yourself about it, maester.” She let out a laugh, remembering Barristan. “And call upon Grey Worm, please, I’ll not be without my main guard.”

She waited for a bit, until two girls came up, wearing gowns of silk and samite, so Dany knew they were highborn. They immediately set about bathing her in the hot water that had been brought up, one of them scrubbing her red while the other combed through her hair and massaged her scalp.

“Your hair is beautiful, if your grace doesn’t mind me mentioning it.” The smaller one with brown locks said, smiling sheepishly while keeping her head low.

“Thank you,” She smiled at the girl. “I do not mind at all, what are your names?”

“I’m Kaylyn Swann.” The black-haired girl spoke first, the larger and louder one of the two. “And she is Cassondra Celtigar.”

“It’s lovely to meet the both of you.” She smiled. “I can braid my hair myself, worry not.”

The girls were finished a bit after that and she began to braid her hair. She would still permit herself three for slaver’s bay; for Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. She was still the Breaker of Chains. The largest middle braid would be for Drogon, her only remaining son that had been born to her on the Dothraki Sea years ago. She gave herself a braid for her Dothraki, for her Unsullied, for her victory against the Others, and now for her victory in taking the Iron Throne, though that was all. There would be no braid for Westeros, or for the people, not yet. She still had to restore order and peace, had to see the people grow fat as she spread the food and turned Westeros green and alive again.

Once she was done with the braid she begun to dress herself with the girls’ help. She had many of her clothes with her still, made to match Westerosi style, in her hopes to show she was one of them. How bitterly hilarious that had come to be. This gown she had chosen was a black one that hugged her body tightly. It was thickly made, for the colder times of the year, with red stitchings woven throughout that resembled a scale pattern along the arms and on the waist, trailing down the sides of her legs. Her stomach had a firmness to it that hadn’t been there before, she noticed while putting on her dress. There wasn’t quite a bump yet, but she knew what the firmness meant, and could feel the life stirring inside of her.

When she was finished, she made her way out of the room, for the first time since her walk that ended in her fainting. Grey Worm was waiting for her outside of the door, with two other Unsullied at his back, and after a nod, they were making their way through the hallway, down the stairs and into the main area of the manse, where a solar branched off to the left and kitchens to the right. In the solar, stood a woman with dark tresses that shined brightly as the sunlight reflected off the oil in her hair. A dark red gown adorning her identified her plainly enough.

“Lady Kinvara,” Dany called out, in what she hoped was a jovial joice, giving a curtsy as she approached the woman. “Thank you for joining us, the red sails were as beautiful of a sight for the city as the light of the heavens themselves.”

“There is no need to thank me, your grace. I did what you requested, and what the lord commanded. I saw great turmoil in the flames. You have fought the great other, his soul lingers around you all, though the great war is not yet over. You must burn away the impurities of this world, my queen, and chase away the shadows with the light the lord has given you.”

“I’m afraid the only war we fight now is the one of restoration.”

“You fight a war in yourself, your grace. One of betrayal and pain, you don’t know who is your enemy, and who is not. This council you await won’t solve these answers, they will only spell out further riddles. The dragons are your only answer, your grace. The fires that burn in the heart of Drogon and in you and Aegon, and the fires that stir in your womb now. You will need both types of dragon now, for blood of your blood is your only true hope.”

She looked down at the woman, watching the smile play across her face as though she was privy to some great secret Dany was unaware of. She didn’t quite trust the red god and his followers, but they seemed to worship her.

“I imagine you also view me as this prophetic figure, this princess that was promised?” 

“When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst salt and smoke to wake dragons out of stone.” The smile returned to Kinvara’s face. “What else are you, Queen Daenerys, if not Azor Ahai, the figure that R’hllor has waited hundreds of years for?”

_ The red star _ , Dany thought to herself.  _ Salt and smoke, dragons from stone _ . The words sent a wave through her, too close to be true, though she had heard it with her own two ears. 

“I will be up for whatever task the lord of light places before me, you and R’hllor have my word on that.” Daenerys gave a small bow in respect. “You arrived quite early, my ravens were sent out only weeks ago?”

“The east is not as peaceful as it was under your rule, your grace. In the east, there is much and more conflict. With the Dothraki gone, the vultures have swarmed the great grass sea and have already begun to plant their flags where they will. In the Bay of Dragons, the people are not as pleased with the leader you have chosen as you had thought. In Volantis and the other cities, they itch for slavery, as they have forgotten the dragon queen.”

She’d been a fool to try to convince herself this wouldn’t happen. Dany knew the east was not strong enough to maintain the system she had built on its own, they only knew their way of life, and that same comfort was what they ran to now. She would have to return soon if she did not wish to see her children slide back into chains, but what about her home? What about the roots she had begun to plant in Westeros? She had thought once that dragons could plant no trees but she found that there was more of a foundation here for her than had ever been across the narrow sea.

“I thank you for your assistance and counsel, my lady. My men will ensure that you and yours are properly housed and given baths and supper, I imagine you’ll all want rest after such an arduous journey.”

And with that, Daenerys found herself leaving the solar, her head returning to the state of fogginess that had grown so familiar as of late. The priestess was right, Dany knew, she couldn’t possibly trust most of those around her. Every time she thought of Jon, her breath would hitch in her chest and it took everything not to cry. His loyalties were so divided, that he would turn on her for the Starks instantly, she knew this. He didn’t even love her anymore, not truly. Sansa would be arriving soon, she knew, and when she did, it would be her against Jon and Sansa, which was a battle Daenerys didn’t want to fight. She had Grey Worm, and the men that remained to her but after fighting Cersei, after fighting the Army of the Dead, she was spent. Her numbers were low, and their spirits were lower. Her men could not fight any more, that much was clear. They needed to rest, to heal, to feel joy again.

Dany looked out the window at the end of the hallway, much larger than the one in her room. This one overlooked the river and she could see as small boats and barges and rafts went up and down the river as the people bustled about, bringing in timber and fish, food from fields beyond, and supplies being brought up from allies. She hadn’t been very involved outside of the walls of this manse, but her men were still communicating everything to her, and they were apparently being given the information from various men who came down from Rhaenys’ hill. The city was receiving aid and under the hands of Ser Davos, Jon, and Tyrion, it seemed to be managing well. Daenerys almost thought that perhaps everyone would be better off without her. She had defeated the White Walkers, and perhaps that was her purpose. She had broken their bondage of death, and now she must return to the east to break the physical chains that had given her that title.

Daenerys found herself in the small library of the manse, with two bookshelves on all four walls of the room, and a hearth directly across from the doorway, with two bookshelves on either side as the doorway had on either side of it as well. Vibrant Myrish rugs sat in front of the two bookshelves that rested against the walls at either end of the room and were accented with chairs sewn in a Myrish fabric that resembled the rugs. Dany looked amongst the bookshelves for a bit, thinking further of the only allies left to her; this “Prince of Dorne”, Yara Greyjoy, and who else? Her men from Essos, the Red God, and Daario whenever he arrived. It was not enough, and most of them weren’t even with her. 

A book caught her eye and interrupted her thoughts.  _ Dance of the Dragons _ , it was titled. She grabbed it out and admired the cover with the three-headed dragon of her house. She set it down and eagerly began to look throughout, never having had the opportunity to be in a Westerosi library before aside from the Winterfell library, though no reading had occurred there. She soon found other books:  _ Aegon’s Conquest  _ and  _ the War of the Ninepenny Kings, Sons of the Dragon, and tales of the Rogue Prince.  _ She sat down and immediately began poring over them, feeling tears well to her eyes as she finally began to learn about her family in ways she hadn’t been able to as of yet.

She read through the books and began to select others from the shelves, watching the sun set across the sky and give way to the black of night and the light of the moon and stars. At that point, Dany had lit a fire for herself and had been brought a second meal by Grey Worm. She felt as though there was so much she hadn’t known, though in truth, she read so much of herself in these pages, knowing that as the Starks were known to be cold and harsh like their winters, and the Martells were unbowed, unbent, and unbroken like their words, she saw that not only was she blood of the dragon in truth, but so were those she was related to as far back as hundreds of years ago. Though she saw now that there had been mistakes. 

Like her ancestor, Aenys the First, she had been too weak in Meereen, too concerned with the approval of the nobles, when she should have brought  _ them _ fire and blood, though instead it festered and she was forced to flee the city and put down a rebellion. Like his brother, Maegor the Cruel, Daenerys had been without mercy and justness at times. There was a code of honor and a way of life in Westeros that valued duty, loyalty, and showing mercy, which she had not done to the Tarlys, nor had she fostered a good relationship with the Starks, or Tyrion, and in truth had not planned on showing to many. She wouldn’t win Westeros with Fire and Blood alone, though. Even Aegon the Conqueror knew that. Nor could she give up on Westeros. Daenerys would restore things to order and would fulfill her ancestor’s dream.

“Apologies, your grace.” Melwys’ voice stole her from her thoughts as the man stood in the doorway to the library, his chains rattling. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I have a raven for you, and Grey Worm has arrived with your supper. Lord Rowan has provided us with duck and quail and venison!” 

His excitement hurt Dany, as she realized that this was the state she had left the city in. Even the Queen and her council were only just now able to receive the luxury of meats like this. She did love duck, though, and could not help herself when Grey Worm brought in the platter, almost forgetting about the letter.

“Who has written to us, Grand Maester?” She spoke between mouthfuls, letting herself savor one of the few pleasures she had been given in quite some time. 

“Lord Tyrek Lannister writes that he will not be present at the council nor will his kin, instead they will be sending Ser Addam Marbrand, fourth son to his lord father and Eleanor Lefford, daughter of Lord Lefford as their representatives while he restores order to the Westerlands.”

Daenerys took a breath, going over in her head what she had been thinking about before Melwys had entered. She thought of Aegon, who broke those who did not bend, but lifted those who did up with a generous hand. Aenys who was too indecisive and passive, Maegor who was too tyrannical and cruel. She knew that she must now be the conciliator, as her great grandfather many times over, Jaehaerys the First, had been so many years past.

“Write to Lord Tyrek and thank him for his correspondence with the crown. Inform him that at this council, it will not only be the Iron Throne that is weighed upon, we will be deciding upon who will rule each kingdom and that will include weighing his claim over Casterly Rock against Tyrion’s.”

“As you were, your grace.” He bowed slightly and shuffled out of the room, clinking as he went. 

Resuming her reading wasn’t an option at this point. The late hour had been creeping on her and blossomed in the form of a yawn. As she sank back in her chair, Dany tried once more to open the book and begin to read the page she had been on, detailing the wedding of Daeron the Second to Myriah Martell and at the same time as his sister, Daenerys had wed Myriah’s brother, Prince Maron of Dorne. The first Daenerys had been a little girl, daughter of the conciliator, who had died young. The second had been this Daenerys, who had brought Dorne into the realm with a double marriage. Her mind traveled back to Jon for a moment, though thankfully, sleep had begun to creep upon her once more, and Daenerys chose the latter.

Grey Worm awoke her sometime while it was still dark, escorting her back to her chambers. The hall was dark and she was still hazed with sleep as he guided her back to her bed.

“I miss her.” She heard him say, and she knew what he meant. “If I did not have you, I would have fallen on my sword when I saw her lose her head.”

“I am more thankful for you than any man around me right now, you are my most loyal and trusted friend.” She stepped a bit closer and took his hands into hers. “I miss her too, everyday. I miss her smile and her hair and the talks we would have while she would braid my hair, or the way she would correct me on how apparently I was not very good at Dothraki.”

The two of them laughed for a bit together, basking in the moment that neither had had. Daenerys took the opportunity to pull him in for a hug and embrace him in a way he knew nobody had before. Missandei had embraced him as a lover, but Dany now hugged him like a friend, like family. He did not know a mother’s touch and perhaps this was the closest he would experience, Dany thought to herself. 

“Thank you, my queen.” He smiled, in the stiff way that she had grown used to seeing. “Rest well.”

She fell asleep quickly again, dreaming of a golden field that stretched on forever. She saw who could only be her ancestors; a strong man with two women standing on either side of him, the fiercer one wielding her own blade. There were hundreds of them; with hair of silver and white and silver-gold and eyes of violets and amethysts and lilacs and indigo and blue. She saw Viserys sitting in a field with a woman who could only be their mother. Next to him was another man, who Dany thought was likely their father. Drogo was there too, and a copper-skinned babe sat in his lap, with silver tufts of hair. Jorah was there, and Missandei, and Barristan, and Rhaegal and Viserion flew in the cloudless skies above them all.

The dragons filled the air with their music and as she sat down, everyone began to smile and talk to her and some began to laugh, though out of pure glee, not from humor. She felt a heaviness weighing her down and before she could realize it, she was leaning backward and once she sank into the golden grass, light began to break through the sky until it shattered it whole and left nothing but blinding light in her eyes. Though the light soon faded and her eyes began to adjust and she could see it was only sunlight streaming in through the window. 

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Dany sat up and looked around, wondering how she got there before remembering Grey Worm and their talk. Remembering Missandei and her sweet smile. Soon the Celtigar and Swann girl came and set to their same task. 

Dany’s body was beginning to cool again after the heat of the bath water when there was a knock at the door. She heard a several voices going back and forth, one evidently Grey Worm’s, and another almost familiar, if only she could hear a bit better . . .

“No! I am sorry my queen, I tried to tell him.” Jon Snow walked in with a frustrated Grey Worm behind him glaring at him. “Get out and await the queen to permit you entrance.”

“It is ok, Torgo Nudho.” She smiled softly at him. “Thank you for always being reliable.”

He nodded and departed, closing the door behind him with one final glare at Jon and leaving the room with a silence so thick that Dany could hear her hair brushing against her ear when she moved her head.

“You came at a good time, at least I’m presentable now.” 

“Wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.” The playful smirk that followed it made her heart almost flutter with hope.  _ Almost _ . 

“That was an incident, Jon, not a precedent.” She tucked her hair behind her ear as her hands began to crave movement, her nerves taking over. “Should I send for food and drinks to be brought up or will this be quick?”

“That is up to you, I could stay after we’ve talked if you would like. But this can’t wait.” He crossed the room in three strides and went to embrace her, though before he could she grabbed his arms, bracing them and keeping him at a distance.

“I’m not one to be toyed with, Jon, you’ve made your feelings quite clear.”

“I love you.” The words hit her harsher than a slap. “I love you, dammit. I’ve been a damn coward and a fool to not say it before but I do. Love you, that is.”

“What was stopping you before?” This seemed almost too good to be true, Dany thought. Her house with the red door was so close, in her literal arms, yet, she couldn’t bear to step through it for fear that it was just a brown door painted red.

“I had thought that,” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “That my duty would be the death of our love. And then I thought perhaps our love would be the death of my duty, and so I chose my duty. Now I see that I was wrong, that I don’t have to choose. Because my love for you is the other half of my duty to you and to our children.”

She let go of her hold on his arms and the two of them came together, and Dany felt as though a fire had taken root inside of her, one she had not felt for some time. The room around them seemed to burn with the very intensity of their kiss as their lips pressed to one another’s in almost a dance of passion. She felt his hands on her gown, unlacing it from her as her fingers found their way through his dark curls. Daenerys felt at home, felt at peace for the first time since the waterfall. That was the last time she remembered feeling truly happy, when her and Jon had their first flight together. Now, she wasn’t quite happy, but there was a passion that burned in her now, where before a hole had formed recently.

“I love you, Dany.” He looked her in her eyes, his stormy ones meeting her violet eyes, and she knew he meant it. 

“I love you, Jon.” She kissed him again and began to unlace his shirt, soon finding themselves back in bed, and before they had finished the sun had nearly set. 

“I can feel them, somehow.” He said afterwards, as he laid his hand across her stomach, tracing soft circles with his thumb. “Your stomach is tightening, I hear that’s one of the first things that happens to a woman when she’s carrying.”

“This is not my first pregnancy.” She laughed. “When I mentioned my husband, did you not expect I had been pregnant at some point?”

When their eyes met, time seemed to still, if only for a moment.  _ Love comes in at the eyes,  _ she remember.

“I suppose so, what happened?” When she closed her eyes she could still imagine the dead child they described. Sometimes the stirring in her belly made her forget for a second that she wasn’t fifteen on the Dothraki Sea again with Rhaego in her belly.

“The witch who murdered my husband also took my son, though I imagine that one she didn’t mean to do.” She looked back up at him, pushing away the thoughts. “I imagine everyone will be awaiting me in the city for this council I hear of?”

“Aye, they want their Queen. You’re the only monarch left in Westeros for anyone to root for, and no house has the strength to rise anymore. And I don’t imagine keeping Tyrion around will win you any love from the people of this city, they seem to hate him more than anyone.”

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t. This council will have to wait until more of my allies arrive, I can’t go so vulnerable, so unguarded.”

“Nobody will hurt you Dany,” He took her hands in his. “I will protect you with my last breath.”

“You’re only one man Jon,” And you will only fight for me with this fierceness while I carry our children, she thought. “You can’t always protect me. I’ve sent word to the east for more of my allies to come, with R’hllor coming in now and my Dothraki, Unsullied, and Drogon, I will be safe here, and when Daario and my forces from Meereen come, I will have an appropriate court around me to protect me.”

“Dany…” He looked at her with sad eyes. “The wars are over, we’re safe.”

“We’ll never be truly safe Jon. Not in this world.” 

“We can start by protecting our children, I’ll not let them be raised as bastards.” There was a pain in his eyes, and she thought of how much the name Snow must have stained his reputation as he went through life. “Please, Dany.”

“I know you’re right, it’s just hard. With everything that’s happened to me, to us, to the world, a wedding seems almost inappropriate. But I suppose it also seems like the most appropriate thing. I know it’s for the best, Jon, and I will do it, just forgive me if I’m not rushing to it.”

“I know you’re scared Dany, and you feel like you’re alone, but you aren’t. You are the most powerful person I know, and its not because of the dragons and your army, its because you are Daenerys Stormborn.” Jon was never one to be so eloquent, and she didn’t expect it to happen again, but the sound of him saying that was sweeter than honey. “I will try to hold the council off as long as I can, but I can’t control all of the lords and ladies and smallfolk, they will need their Queen sooner rather than later.”

The two of them left the bed before dark, Dany remaining in her manse, visiting the library once more. Jon went off to his duties, likely tending to the site of the council and making preparations to stall.  _ If I look back I am lost _ , Dany reminded herself. She did not have to fear Jon and the others now, but she still couldn’t trust anyone fully, save for Drogon and the babies growing in her womb.

The next few days turned over to a repetitive cycle of waking, conversing with her handmaids, talking with Grey Worm, Melwys, or both, and seeing Jon in the evenings. She had forgotten what it was like to have someone warm her bed every night. It was a soothing feeling. And as she watched the sun rise and set and the moon chase it eagerly in turn, Dany fell into a routine of sorts, until five days later, when the bells began to rang and kraken sails were seen over the horizon.

“Yara.” Dany whispered to herself through her smile, and she knew then that she was about to be less alone, and much more protected.

  
  



	9. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, life has gotten quite busy. I've taken the reviews into account and I'm trying to improve the story, but please continue to leave comments, the praise is encouraging and the criticism only makes me better! :)

Sansa

II

The few miles outside of the city and the way up had been like traveling through a fog that grew progressively thicker as you went, although it wasn’t a fog, it was the stench of King’s Landing that Sansa had remembered hating so much, that same smell which made her turn away on instinct. Though now, it wasn’t alone, the smell danced with the scent of fires and burnt men and burnt buildings. The same smell hung in the air that Sansa knew to be wildfire. She had smelled it that night of the blackwater and would never forget it. 

It was a musky smell, almost like oil, but more putrid and sharp.  _ It smells green _ , Sansa thought. Though not the lush and lively green of grasses and forests and some fruits, but the vibrant green that reminded her of what one retched up when there was nothing left in their stomach to vomit out. The smell couldn’t have prepared her for the sight. King’s Landing was now a burnt, shriveled husk of its former self. Only pockets of the city remained; the three high hills, though in truth only Aegon’s looked to still be standing, the other two looked as though the earth beneath them had erupted like a volcano and fell back down to create small hills littered everywhere. Only the northeastern corner of the city looked to still stand other than that, and Sansa could see what would now be about a moon’s turn worth of these people making camp and erecting their crude structures to sleep and eat in.

_ Where is their queen? _ Sansa thought to herself.  _ Daenerys should be out here helping them, she should be flying to every castle pleading for help, so why does her dragon lay curled up outside of the gate and why does the city not seem half as loud as it should if their queen was amongst them, giving them hope and aid.  _

Sansa remembered the days where she thought she would be queen. If she were queen, she would make them love her. The woman’s heart may have been well intended once, but it was plain to see now that she had tunnel vision and only cared for power. She was no different than the players Sansa had known since she was in King’s Landing. Cersei, Varys, Littlefinger, Stannis, Renly, even Tyrion, they were all the same, feeding into the cycle of power that preyed on the innocent. Hopefully, though, things would change with this council.

_ Cersei _ , Sansa thought once more, her thoughts trailing back to the woman who had ruined her life. She’d hoped to see the woman’s execution but after what happened, Sansa imagined it was better she wasn’t here. 

The men above the gates shouted to one another and opened the large doors that Sansa had crossed through what felt like a hundred years ago. There were Unsullied and Dothraki guarding the streets as Sansa’s procession made its way into the city with some Riverlanders, Crownlanders, Northmen, and Knights of the Vale scattered throughout, serving as guard. The latter began to cling to her procession as she made her way and Sansa needed only to turn around on her horse to see that perhaps three hundred or more had joined them.

She smiled to herself and gripped the reins tighter, looking out on the people that lined the streets. There were of course children running about and men and women with their stalls and their wagons selling whatever they had to offer. So many of the people before her were covered with burns, Sansa realized. One man had half of his face burned in a way that reminded her of the Hound. The hair had burned away there and the hair on the other side appeared to have almost melted into the flesh on the other side of the man’s face. 

The rest of the way had been much of the same, with the scars of war set out before them, still fresh and bleeding like so many wounds. They were trying to rebuild, trying to gain some semblance of normalcy, Sansa could see with their makeshift encampments and hovels, but their foundation was rubble and ash. A proper encampment could be seen atop Visenya’s hill, even from the bottom of it as Sansa’s party proceeded uphill. She could see a group of people awaiting them at the entrance of the encampment and knew that one of them was Jon. He would not be happy with her, but it was still her brother, he wouldn’t see her differently, she was sure of it.

“Lady Sansa,” Jon smiled and nodded, though it was almost stiff, she could tell. “I hope that the roads were kind.”

“They were, though the winds were not. I fear it may still be winter.” There was no time to ask Jon why he was being so formal with her, not in front of everyone. “It is good to see you as well, Lord Davos.”

She curtsied to both and made her way into the encampment, nodding and smiling at many as she passed along. There was a designated area already prepared for them, complete with the direwolf banners of her house. She looked for Arya, hoping to see her somewhere, though Sansa knew that if Arya was there, she would have been waiting with Jon and Davos. The sound of a man clearing his throat took her from her thoughts and she turned to see Tyrion standing a yard away.

“It is good to see you, my lady. You look beautiful.” He smiled at her and she wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or mocking her.

“Thank you, my lord. You look handsome as always.”

“Oh, enough of that, Sansa.” He laughed a bit, and she was able to relax, at least some things had not changed. “We’ve gotten your tent already prepared, we’ve been waiting for you. Would you come with me? Your men will be separated accordingly into the camps we have for soldiers.”

She turned and nodded to Lords Manderly and Glover, who turned away and began to discuss those plans with some other Northmen that must have been with Jon. Sansa turned and followed Tyrion into the tent, looking up at the Stark banner as she walked under it.

“How are you, really?” 

“Jon is being oddly formal with me, and I can not figure out why. I have to garner support for this trial, and in truth, I’m not sure Bran is capable of ruling Winterfell in my stead. Brienne is a knight, not a lady, she can not handle that responsibility.”

“Nor can you handle the responsibility of so many things at once.” He put his hand on hers. “Not by yourself, anyway.”

She stared into those mismatched eyes that had made her feel so many things over the years. Fear, hatred, even safety, though now when she looked into them all she felt was confusion bubbling up to the surface and being blocked there as though by some cruel god who enjoyed seeing her squirm in confusion.

“Thank you, Tyrion, you are kind to say so.” 

“Wise to say so, I would think.” He smiled to himself like he was the cleverest man to ever live. “Your first two marriages need not scare you from a third. You are still young and beautiful, and if I may say so, my lady, the only member of your house likely to have any children named Stark.”

“My sister may yet surprise us. Speaking of Arya, is she running about somewhere here? I was hoping to see her, she left Winterfell with the Hound when the rest of you did, though it doesn’t look like she is here.” Sansa was trying to ignore the pounding in her chest but she knew what happened to so many Starks that had gone south,  _ if Arya were to die… _

“I’ve heard no word of your sister being here, but the Hound was seen. He died in the fires.” Her breath caught in her throat and the world spun around her for a moment. “Was there anywhere else she may have gone?”

“She could be anywhere,”  _ Or maybe she died in the fires as well.  _ “She could have left Westeros altogether, or perhaps she’s checking names off her list.”

“List?” His brows furrowed, though she hardly noticed. “I can ask-

“Thank you for your time, Tyrion, I must be on my way.” She gave him no time to finish his thought, her mind focused only on her sister. 

Sansa’s thoughts had been only a consolation, she knew better almost immediately. If Arya were not here, chances are she was dead. She pushed out of the tent and looked every which way, locating the maester and the Northman who had accompanied her. With a few quick sentences, she had the lot of them going out to give orders for a search for Arya while the maester would be sending ravens when possible to a large cluster of lords. These ravens would tell them that should they hear any word of Arya, they would inform her immediately for a reward. 

Her heart was racing, only surpassed by her mind. Soon, one foot was in front of the other, and she was walking towards the docks to see if anything could be found there. The city was more and the same along the way, a healing wound, though festered and angry, it was healing all the same. 

The docks were made of fresh, raw wood. There had been no time to use anything but. The wood was likely from the Kingswood itself, Sansa imagined. There were ships scattered along the coastline, with different banners all throughout. There were the Velaryons of Driftmark, some of the Manderly ships that had arrived ahead of her, Gulltown ships, and some others she didn’t quite recognize. Though more numerous than all combined were the black and gold Greyjoy sails. They had arrived a few days past, she had heard, and now it seemed that Yara had taken control over the docks and was building them anew. They had little other choice, however, if they hoped to make King’s Landing a port ever again. 

The birds were beginning to return to the bay, though in thin flocks, still hesitant of the city of ashes. 

“Lady Sansa!” She heard a woman’s shout, deep and commanding. 

A woman swaggered forward dressed the same as the rest of the ironborn, though by her demeanor and the way that the others looked at her as she walked by, she could only be Yara. Sansa’s hand immediately went to the pockets of her coat, pulling out the pin that she had found herself staring at every night. Parting with it seemed almost impossible, though she knew this day would come. How had it come already? There had to be something else that she could give her.  _ Anything _ .

“Lady Yara, it is good to finally meet you.” She curtsied before the woman who had her hand extended. “I’m not accustomed to hand shakes, that is a man’s custom here on the mainland.”

“You green folks and your courtesies,” Yara laughed, though not mockingly. “I understand you were more of a sister to my brother than I was. I thank you for that. He wanted to fight and die for you, he told me as much when he rescued me from my uncle. He paid the iron price in the end, and for that he will swim beneath the watery halls of our god. What is dead may never die.” She clasped her hand over her heart and closed her eyes.

“I brought this for you. I had one made for his body to be burned with, though I brought his own to give to you.” In truth, she could not bear to burn it with his body, and so she had given him the wolf. She pulled out the kraken broach with trembling hands. “He died with honor.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will not forget this.” The woman walked away, and she could sense that Yara needed the day to herself. Sansa imagined she may need the same.

  
  



	10. Arya I

Arya

I

The earth crunched beneath her feet with each light bound. The moonlight was the only guide she had through the dense forest. The doe was fast, though if she pushed herself, she knew she was faster. Her heart roared in her ears as they perked toward the stars. The hunt was in her, and she felt each bound grow fiercer, faster. Soon the taste of the crisp night’s air was filled with flesh, and then blood. The doe twitched beneath her and the sweet, sweet rush of the hunt rolled through her. 

So like the shivers she got when a cool breeze rolled by, or when her pack had to go in the water. She was of the night, and with the moon on her as she enjoyed her kill, she knew this now more than ever. A scent on the wind caught her nose. It was men. Men with their long claws and the hot wind they carried that blinded her and her pack.

She heard her brothers and sisters begin to howl. Before she knew it, her legs were in a mad dash beneath her, bounding along the forest floor to the call of her pack. A cold had settled in her body, though she didn’t know when. It was familiar, as though it had been there long. The night wasn’t cold, there was a breeze but it was only cool. 

The cold moved inside of her, along her belly and moving up until it reached her throat. It grew hard to breathe and she had to stop running. Standing in the stream, Arya looked at her reflection. Her white-grey fur was matted with dirt and leaves, and her eyes shone blue. Her breathing grew worse and she felt as though her throat was getting tighter. Soon, she couldn’t breathe at all, until she sat up in her bed. 

Arya clutched at her throat desperately, feeling a burn there, though a burn as though she held her hand on the Wall itself. A cold so intense it burned. Her dagger and needle rested aside the bed and were the first things she reached for. Though within moments, she realized what had happened. Her wolf dreams had not happened in quite a long while, but the cold dreams, as she had come to call them, had been all too familiar since the night she had killed the Night King. Exactly where he had grabbed her by the throat, an intense cold rested there, as though the flesh  _ remembered _ .

In a way it did. She had looked only a few times, in a stream, in a looking glass at the inn she was at, and she could see the mark. Flush across her throat, a handprint had begun to set in, very faint at first, but in the weeks since, it had begun to darken. She was back at the Inn at the Crossroads. Her path had taken her here so many times, she thought, why not again?

Though in truth, she had only gone where she knew Hot Pie was. She wanted to see someone familiar, but not so familiar that they would cause her issues. That was all she had gotten when she went home. Bran wasn’t Bran, Rickon was gone, Sansa was just Cersei with Tully hair, and Jon was not Jon anymore, he was the Dragon Queen’s lover, he was  _ Aegon Targaryen _ . At least Hot Pie was still Hot Pie.  _ And Gendry is still Gendry _ , she thought to herself, but who knew where he was. He had gone south when the rest of them had, to Storm’s End. He was likely there now but south wasn’t where she was headed to.

She tried best as she could to sleep more that night. Sleep did come, though only after hours of laying with her eyes closed. She got herself together in the morning. Changing into her proper clothes and putting her hair up. She made her way to the hall where she knew Hot Pie would be and soon enough he had wished her a good morning and sat her at a table before running off to the kitchens.

“Careful with that one, ‘Arry.” Several dishes were set out before her by him soon, all steaming as the smell wafted through the entire inn. “They’re hot and fresh.”

“Thank you,” She smiled at him, appreciating that he might be the only person she knew who had never hurt someone. “You deserve to be somewhere better than this, you know that?”

“What do ya mean?” His eyebrows furrowed and she only smiled wider. 

“You could come to Winterfell and work in the kitchens,” She put her hand on his. “You would live in the castle, dine in the halls with my brother and sister, and would be able to live your life safely and peacefully as you want.”

“My home is ‘ere, ‘Arry.” He looked around, as if he were nervous. “Anyway, the lady here says I’ve gotta work to pay off how much I eat. A lot of money apparently.”

“Well fine then, don’t come live in a castle.” She continued to eat, smirking at her jape. 

It wasn’t long before Arya found herself packed up and once more preparing to get on her horse and leave. Hot Pie had disappeared halfway through her meal, though she didn’t worry about leaving without seeing him.

“Wait!” _ Right on time, _ Arya thought to herself. “Wait up, ‘Arry!” 

Hot Pie ran up to her house with a little sack on his back. He was panting as though he hadn’t run since they were running from Harrenhal.

“Changed your mind, did you?” She enjoyed messing with him. “Well let’s go, we don’t have forever.”

He got in the saddle with a struggle, obviously he hadn’t ridden a horse in years. Imagining Hot Pie in Winterfell gave her hope. She remembered Mikken, Jory and Rodrik. The kennel master and so many others who she had grown up with at Winterfell. They would bring in Brienne and now Hot Pie and eventually, they would have another proper household for the castle. For the first time in her life, Arya thought of herself having kids, and smiled. 

She urged the two of them on and away they went, making their way North along the kingsroad. The path was familiar to her, having walked it nearly a dozen times now, but it didn’t make the journey any less uncomfortable.

“What ya thinkin bout ‘Arry?” He hated silence and didn’t take long to fill it. “Ya thinkin about what you want ta do after this? I don’ see you bein no lady, if ya ask me.”

“No,” She laughed. “That would be my sister. I don’t know what I want to do, Hot Pie.”

It was the truth, she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

“Sure ya do, Arya.” He tried to say her name though it just sounded like are-yuh. “Ya have your family back, ya have your castle and the North back, and the Queen is gone now. You’re safe.”

“Thank you, Hot Pie.” He was sweet, if nothing else. “I don’t know where I belong anymore, truly. I don’t feel familiar anywhere anymore, so maybe the answer it to go somewhere new.”

“Like where? All the way in the Summer Isles or somethin’?”

“Maybe west of Westeros.” The thought had been there for so long now, calling to her, drawing her in.

“There is nothing West of Westeros, ‘Arry.” He looked at her now as though she were mad. “Just the sea.”

“Mayhaps. What do you want Hot Pie? A family, or are you in love with your oven?”

The two of them shared a laugh that rang throughout the forest. It was a nice moment to share, one she hadn’t had in a while.

“I guess I might want a nice wife and some little ones some day.” He laughed a bit then as well, blushing. “You never told me what happened down south, ya know.”

“Half the city blew up. Wildfire.” She took a deep breath, remembering the explosions. “The dragon queen set them off I think. I don’t think she meant to though, she couldn’t have known about them.”

“How’d ya get outta there?”

“A friend helped me escape in time.” She thought of Sandor and his last words. “I used tunnels under the Red Keep to escape, they open out on the beaches.”

“That would’ve been good to know back in Flea Bottom.” He laughed, and she was thankful for the easy transition away from the subject

It wasn’t as easy as he thought it had been. Sure, Sandor had urged her out and she  _ had _ made it to the tunnels, but along the way, she saw the people screaming, heard the earth-shaking booms that rung throughout the city like crashes of thunder happening one after the other. It was as if some great god were stacking mountains side by side just to watch them all tumble down. The smell hadn’t taken her until she was almost below the castle, but by then the smoke and brimstone and charred flesh had filled the air. That had been the saddest thing, Arya thought, as the smell of burning flesh returned to her nose. Somehow so close but so distant. 

They didn’t get very far before the sun began to set and they agreed to set up camp. Unsurprisingly, Hot PIe proved useless at setting up a camp and she found herself erecting the campsite. Two crude tents and a makeshift firepit gave them food and shelter for the night.

“It’s good rabbit, ‘Arry. Better than what we ate when we were with the brotherhood.” He was only trying to lighten the mood, she hoped the smile she shot his way was convincing. 

“Aye, I’m likely a better hunter now.” It would be a long night. “You go to bed once you’re done, I’ll take first watch for us.”

“Watch for what?”

“There are still things out there that can hurt us, Hot Pie. The war is never truly over.”

He went to his tent soon and Arya lowered the fire, not wanting it to produce too much light but needing the heat. She couldn’t sleep if she wanted to. Her mind swirled as she saw the burning homes, the burnt people, the smoky skies.  _ The horrors of war _ , she remembered the voices of so many she had been with who reminded her that  _ this  _ was just life and that was the way of it. She refused to accept that. Life was not suffering.

But she couldn’t deny what she saw. Not a mile outside of the city a small village had been on the plain. Perhaps four or five huts with bits of farming areas and livestock pens here and there. When she arrived somehow a chunk of red stone had flown there and crashed into the village and through the trees just beyond. Green flames dripped from the stone itself and she saw its streak through the village and trees as the strip of green fire burned like emerald stars with normal fires burning through the rest. The screams rang out as Arya had sprinted up to them, piercing the air, broken only by the whipping and crackling of the hot winds all around them. 

“Take my hand!” Arya had screamed, but she was too late. They were all trapped and burning, any who had survived had likely ran as soon as they saw the debris flying from the city. Wildfire was nothing like anything she had ever seen. No oil or pitch explosion could ever have done this. Not even dragonfire, she imagined. 

Arya had to run away as well, going away inside so as not to hear the screams as the men, women, and children were consumed by the flames that clung to everything like a hellish mud. 

A crack off to the right took her from her thoughts and from the memories of the little girl covered in wildfire.  _ There are still things that can hurt us,  _ she had said to Hot Pie only an hour earlier. Death must have heard her, and sent his messenger. Though this was not death. Nor was it any man. Arya could  _ feel _ this presence out there, in a way that was unlike how she sensed other people’s presence. This was something much closer, she knew. 

“Nymeria?” It was only a whisper but soon those dark golden eyes glowed against the moonlight as she came through a thicket of woods. 

There were dozens of sets of eyes all around her though Arya didn’t care. As the two wolves looked into one another’s eyes, Arya felt a pull inside of her. One she had only felt in her sleep, though the pull was there all the same. It was if Nymeria’s soul was calling her own to join her. To run in the moonlight as free as a spirit.

“I’m here girl, you can come to me.” Arya held out her hand, so the wolf could get her scent. 

There was no snarling, no apprehension, just understanding between the two beings. Nymeria turned away then and walked off. The pack followed her and for a moment, Arya thought that the wolf was leaving again, until soon she saw that the wolf was circling them, and soon the wolves were all spread around the encampment her and Hot Pie had made, sitting and looking out.  _ I guess they’re on watch now, _ Arya laughed lightly to herself, not sure of what to think.

For the first time in years, Arya felt safe enough to let her guard down, and entered her tent to give herself this night of rest. In her dreams, she bounded under the moonlight, across the grasses and leaves, over the rivers and crevices throughout the woods, allowing her spirits to fly freely through the night sky.

  
  



	11. Brienne II

Brienne

II

The winds of winter were biting at Winterfell and all who were within her walls. Brienne had gotten multiple furs on her bed and had kept a fire going all through the night now just to keep herself and the babe warm. It was strange, she could almost feel the baby getting cold as well, sometimes. Though perhaps she was only imagining it.

Every day and night for the past six days, the northerners were coming south to Winterfell, as were many of the wildlings who were still coming from the far north, somehow. Brienne was with Bran and the others that counselled him in Sansa’s stead, day and night, receiving the high and lowborn, hearing their sentiments and responding, and either sending them to White Harbor, or making room for them here. This sleep was more needed than anything at the moment, though the nausea was keeping her awake.  _ Or was it the cold?  _ She thought.  _ Maybe both?  _

All the same, her body would not rest, nor would the life inside of her. Though still too small to even be seen in any way, Brienne could  _ feel _ the child. She loved it in a way that she had never loved anything, and she couldn’t even conceptualize anything past its existence. It frightened her to think of how much she would love the child once it was born.  _ Jaime Lannister’s bastard _ , she thought to herself,  _ the babe will not be loved anywhere it goes _ . Moon tea was considered nearly every day. Perhaps it was not the right time, perhaps she was not ready. Though Brienne was not in that situation, and she knew that she was ready, she was just scared. 

_ Thank the gods for the bucket _ , she thought as she found herself retching over the side of the bed. The vomiting was almost a familiar comfort at this point, ripping her from unpleasant whims or long trains of thought that ended in tears. Though it did still hurt like hell. And so, once more, Brienne found herself pacing the halls of the castle. She went to Bran’s room, and ensured that he was alright, though of course she knew she would find nothing more than the boy sleeping in his bed. He may have just been lying there, however, she wasn’t quite sure if he did sleep anymore. He only ate when someone else fed him so she would not be surprised at this point. 

_ Jasyn _ , she thought as she caressed her stomach. Bran had said that she would be giving birth to a boy. Brienne wasn’t able to tell with him sometimes, if he was just speaking as a normal person, or if he was telling her the future. She did  _ not _ like whatever it was that had inhabited this poor boy, and she hated living with it even more. He was only a shell now, like the parasites that her maester told her about that will infest other creatures and use their body as a husk, eating everything inside until they were nothing but a husk, a hollow carcass. Whatever was inside of Brandon Stark had destroyed the boy inside and had infested him.

“Mother have mercy.” Brienne said aloud, bowing her head and closing her eyes as she took a moment to pray for the child, who would be a man grown soon, and did not get to see his own adulthood.

She walked for a bit longer, how long she didn’t know, but eventually she began to feel tired and she made her way back to her bed, drifting off for the evening.

Brienne was beginning to grow angry with everyone for allowing her to sleep so late. Maester Wolkan, Tormund, and Bran were apparently prioritizing her sleep over her duty. She was still the one who Sansa chose to represent her interests, though she was starting to wonder why. Brienne alone was given those instructions and it seemed that she alone knew of them. Nobody viewed her in any manner of respect or power, she was still Brienne the Beauty. Bran was the voice of Winterfell, and Wolkan was the voice of Bran. 

The familiar routine that she fell into every morning fell upon her once more. Like the warm touch of a lover that you awake to every morning, if only she knew what that was like. The sole disruption was her detour on her way downstairs. She was to pay the barber a visit, a man named Derek, who had come in from the Winter Town, renowned as their barber. The North was one large family, however, and so Derek was sent along to a place where his talents would be well used.

“What’ll we be doin’ today?”

“Clean and short, please.” Brienne sat and allowed the man to snip and shear and shave here and there until her hair was close-cropped once more and none hung around her face at all. 

The mirror showed a face that Brienne had forgotten the past few years. She looked younger, almost, though her scars remained, to prove her age.  _ Ser Brienne _ , she thought to herself,  _ I am that girl no longer, I am now a knight. _

Derek pulled her from her thoughts to do finishing touches and ask her opinion and almost as soon as she gave him her approval he had her out of his door. The man was not one for many words or long company, and she was glad for it. Brienne was not meant to be a lady by any means, she hated the trifles of courtesy and niceties.

The North was nowhere near as bad as the rest of Westeros. At her father’s court, she had to curtsy and give her grace to everyone she saw in as ladylike a manner as she could do. Thankfully, the northerners were satisfied with much less, as Brienne didn’t care to give them much more. They would be eating now, she thought to herself, and she cared to join them, to be there for Bran. The emptiness in her stomach reminded her of another reason to be there as well.

Making her way across the yard once more, she entered the long hall of Winterfell, where a pale Bran sat at the head of the wall, flanked by Maester Wolkan, Tormund, and a few other scattered Northmen here and there along the tables. Podrick was by his side and a chair had been left vacant for Brienne.  _ How kind of them _ , she thought scornfully.

“Good morning, Lady Brienne.” Maester Wolkan rose, though she stared back coldly, not saying anything.

“Good morning,  _ ser _ .” Tormund rose, though less gracefully.

“Good morning, Lord Tormund. Pod, my lord.” She nodded to them and then to Bran, moving to her seat.

“We missed you for the morning feast, ser, but we thought it best not to wake you. We’ve got things covered and you need your rest, my lady.” Podrick was ever the gentle one, though sometimes she wanted to wring his gentle neck.

“Thank you for your consideration Pod, but my duty comes before my comfort. I’ll not be allowed to sleep in again, understood?” She looked at Wolkan while she spoke, knowing that the Maester had more say than anyone here.

They all nodded and Brienne took a plate of food from the serving girl, who returned quickly with a mug of ale.

“Water, please.” She handed back the cup, hoping that nobody thought anything of it.

“I was just telling the rest of these lily-livers that when this winter breaks, I’ll be going up north with the free folk to get the lay of our lands and begin to build myself my own hall.”

“Ah, yes, Tormund’s keep will be built sooner than we know it, hopefully.” Maester Wolkan said, though he was mocking the wildling, and Tormund didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll dine in my hall, fuck as I like, rule as I like and eat as I like.”

“Surely, you want more from life?” He was a simple man, she thought after, maybe he truly didn’t.

“I’m Lord Giantsbane!  _ Har! _ ” He banged his mug on the table as he roared. “What more could I ask for?”

“It’s not enough to just be a lord. There is more than just indulgence, there is responsibility. You must rule, you must carry on your house, you must have a household, a  _ lady _ .”

“Well why don’t you be my lady?” The words hit her in the chest like a blow of an axe. Though there was no pain, and she was still as could be.

“Well, if you’ve enjoyed your jokes, I think that’ll be quite enough.” Brienne began to stand up before feeling a hand around her arm, turning to see Tormund’s blue eyes looking into her own.

“It’s no joke. You are amazing, and I don’t know how you’ve not had a thousand men begging for your hand, but if it's free, I’ll take it gladly.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Brienne didn’t understand this. All her life, the only man who had ever treated her with any kindness had been Renly, and he had liked men. Then Jaime… and now Tormund. Brienne wasn’t sure what to make of it. It must be a joke, though it wasn’t. 

“You are asking me to marry you?” She tried to steady her breath, though the words came out between labored gasps. 

“Aye, I want you to be Lady Giantsbane.” He let out one of his roaring laughs. “Unless the old man here wants to rule my hall as well.”

Brienne couldn’t help but laugh. Though she hated the public discussion of something so important, she knew that these affairs were never private and intimate in this country. Marriage was political, not romantic.

“I imagine I can’t say no to such a match, can I? You will have to send a raven to my father as well, to ask for my hand in marriage, though if he grants it, I do consent, my lord.” 

_ Perhaps Jasyn can be his son _ , the thought hadn’t occurred to her as of yet, but maybe, just maybe, Brienne considered. 

“I’d like to go to the Godswood.” Bran pulled her from her thoughts, smiling emptily at her, his eyes not smiling alongside his mouth.

Ghost was beside the boy, she had noticed. That was strange, Brienne thought, these direwolves knew more than men did. The wolf must know something they could not. 

“How long has Ghost been at your side?” 

“He hasn’t left our lord’s side since early yesterday evening.” Wolkan was the one who spoke now, almost seeming to match Brienne’s concern.

She nodded, their eyes meeting in mutual understanding. She walked behind Bran and grabbed the handles of his chair, beginning to push him out of the hall, leaving her food hardly eaten. The walk to the Godswood was not a long one, and Podrick accompanied them until the archway, where he stood guard. 

“You should go to Tarth.” Bran spoke as they neared the tree, snow falling lightly around them. 

“Tarth? Why would I need to go there? My father can correspond by raven.”

“This is not about the marriage, your father will need you soon.” She didn’t understand, though before she could open her mouth he spoke again. “He needs his heir, and with you gone, you are not viewed as such.”

He reached the tree and rested his hand upon the bark, his eyes rolling back into his head. She stared into the whites of those eyes, devoid of all life and love.  _ Tarth _ , she thought. She hoped that Lord Selwyn was alright, did Bran mean her father would die? The thoughts continued to race through her head, for how long she didn’t know. She thought of the island, of her home. Her father had always wanted a husband for her, and now she had it. She would have sons, and she would be able to raise her child to rule the island. Bran began to get more color to him as he connected with the weirwood. He began to look almost healthy again, not as thin and pale as he did just moments before. Ghost had curled at his feet and rested his head upon the feet which truly had become lifeless from lack of use.

So she waited, and stood around, watching as he did whatever he did at the tree. The sun drifted in the sky and the clouds raced aside it. She thought of Jasyn in her belly, and the future she wanted for him. He would have brothers and sisters named Tarth and Giantsbane, though what fate he had she did not know. Bran did, perhaps, but that was a dangerous game, one which she did not want to play. However long she was there, it must have been long enough, for soon Tormund and Wolkan came out to the Godswood, approaching the two of them.

“We must go, my lady, the people are waiting.” They would be going to the Winter Town. 

Every day, for the past fortnight or so, they had been going to escort those to Winterfell and helping with the preparation as the Northerners packed themselves into the castle so they could survive the Winter. It was a tedious ordeal, and these folk did not respect them the way they did the Starks, which made it all the more difficult to do in Sansa’s absence. Even Jon would have been a deal of help.

She went to get Bran, shaking him at first as she usually did, calling his name a bit to rouse him from his flight in the world beyond. She grabbed the arms of the wheelchair, pulling it away to disconnect him from the tree. She had done it many times before, though this time, she watched as the color bled from him and suddenly the world had turned to chaos. Bran slumped forward in his chair, spilling out like a sack of flour. Ghost leapt to his feet, growling and snarling at her as though she had struck the boy, and a strong wind began to rustle through the Godswood, roaring over them all like no natural wind.

“What did you do?” Wolkan shouted over the howling of the wind. 

“I don’t know!” Brienne yelled back in a panic. 

Ghost still snarled at her and she thought of something Bran had said once about the magic of the old gods. An old magic flowed through the earth here, one which none of them understood. Though understanding and knowing were two different things, and Brienne was certain she knew what to do. So she bent down and hoisted the limp body up. Tormund rushed to her side soon and shoved Ghost away, lifting the boy’s body, and together placing him in the tree, resting him in almost a sitting position, straddling a thick branch. The color flowed back into him and he opened his eyes, looking at them, inhumanly. 

“Thank you.”

  
  



	12. Samwell I

Samwell

I

“Aye, be quick about it!” Sam heard the guard at the gate up ahead shout to what was likely the horse driver. “You lot aren’t the only ones coming for the council!”

There was a long train following Sam’s party, streaming Tarly banners of the red huntsman on his green field. Sam had left for Horn Hill when the rest of the host had departed from Winterfell. He and Gilly took the Kingsroad down to the castle, and took the Roseroad back up to King’s Landing, though with a train following them now. His mother, the lady Melessa had gathered up a great deal of men in the Tarly lands as well as her ties to her Florent family. His sister had married Symun Fossoway and the red apple Fossoways were glad to boast of such an alliance. House Tarly was approaching a great deal of power with the Tyrells gone, Sam had even found himself entertaining the idea of them being named Lords of the Reach once or twice, though such flights of fancy were unlikely. 

The city was a mess. A stinking pile of shit and rubble. The camps that were beginning to form around the city and the freshly boarded docks were more orderly than the wards that had sprung up inside of the city. You could almost lay down ribbons to separate the groups, they were so divided. Between Stark, Targaryen, Lannister, Redwyne, Hightower, Velaryon, they were factions, forming and festering and growing. This was the chaos that had come from the Targaryens, Sam thought, this queen was no better. She brought only more chaos, more destruction, more death.  _ Fire and Blood _ . She wasn’t the rightful heir, not truly. He knew that now, and soon many more would…

A cluster of documents rested in a chest full of parchments and notebooks. There lay a fiercer weapon than any sword or dragon. The Tarlys had already been designated an area atop Visenya’s Hill, where once stood the Sept of Baelor. It seemed all the highborn were being sent there, as he saw more banners flying there. Arryn, Tully, Blackwood, Bracken, Mallister, Greyjoy, Manderly, Rosby, Rykker. A hundred colors flapped in the wind, with the sun shining off of them. 

“Ugh,” Gilly groaned next to him, clutching her quickly growing stomach. “All he does is move, I want rest.”

“Do you want more tea?” Her belly had grown significantly in the turn and a half of the moon since leaving Winterfell, and with it the discomfort had grown.

“No, that’s alright, I don’t want to sleep yet.” The maester had been making her a tea that helped with her symptoms, though made her terribly drowsy. “I just want little Jon to stop his squirming.”

She crossed her hands over her belly and looked at him as he rested his hand atop hers. The two smiled at one another, though were soon interrupted by the door to the carriage flying open.

“My lord, my lady, Jon Snow is here to greet you, as is Lord Tyrion Lannister.” The guardsmen was one he had known since he was younger, captain of his father’s household guard. “My lord.”

The two stepped out of the carriage, throwing their hands over their faces as they adjusted to the sunlight. As promised, there stood the Imp and Sam’s best friend. Without restraint, he came up and hugged the man full. 

“”It’s good to see you again, Jon, I was worried you’d gone up in smoke when I heard of the city!” Sam laughed, gesturing Gilly forward. “This baby is coming fast. The maesters are sure that Baby Jon Tarly will be a boy.”

“Well I’m glad to hear of his health, and of yours.” He nodded to both again, smiling, before kissing Gilly on her cheek. “I made sure that Tarly areas were set aside for you, though I wasn’t aware of the Florents and Fossoways, we’ll have to figure out something to make it work, the Queen will make it happen.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Sam knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Sam, not here.” The words were harsh and stressed. “The Queen is still our queen.”

Sam bowed, knowing not to press it further, but he had seen Tyrion’s face, the man knew already. Bran knew, Sam knew, and Jon knew, he imagined the rest of the Starks knew, but did Daenerys herself? He would have to look for Varys, the spymaster would do better than Sam ever could. 

“Apologies, Jon. We’ve brought a bit more maesters with us, felt it would help with everything going on. I imagine my days of training for maesterhood are over now that the Night’s Watch is gone.”

“Is it?” Tyrion spoke up finally, “I’ve heard no declaration of the dissolution of such an ancient order. The Night’s Watch is a vital part of Westeros, it should stay around. Besides, where else will we send our rapers and robbers?”

“Well, all the same, I’m sure that the Queen will pardon those who did not belong in such a place.” Would she? Sam was certain of someone who would… 

“Well, we’ll give you your space to settle in, more men will be here to help you set up camp and to get more room for the extra men you’ve brought. Good seeing you both.” And with that, Jon was gone, walking away and back down the hill, likely to  _ the Queen _ .

The words were acid and tar on Sam’s tongue. The woman who had burned her captives, his brother and father, without trial, without warrant.  _ They were prisoners…  _ There was no bringing back the dead, but he certainly could prevent there from being more dead by her hand. Little Sam’s wailing took him from his thoughts. 

The boy had become more aggravated, more temperamental since the Battle of Winterfell. Gilly was certain that he was still scared and affected by the things he heard and saw, but Sam wasn’t so sure. Something was wrong with the boy. Mayhaps some illness or effect of being a byproduct of incest. She could have more children if something should happen to him, the boy’s existence had been cruel since birth. Nothing Sam or Jon had done had done much to help the boy, only kept him alive. 

“Let’s lay him down, he hasn’t slept much while we were riding, a bed that stays still may help him.” Sam spoke to Gilly at first, then to his men. “Make the boy’s sleeping area first, he needs the rest!”

“Sam.” His mother’s voice floated through the air as she crossed over to him. “Now that we’re here, I imagine you’ll be wanting to meet with Lords Hightower and Redwyne, won’t you?”

His thoughts trailed back to the documents in his chest and the banners that had flown in the wind. 

“Yes, I imagine I will be needing to. I will wait til sun down, please go to them, greet them, and tell them I will drink with them at sunset and discuss important information with them.” He was Lord Samwell Tarly now, by all the laws of Westeros, and he would be regarded as such by other lords. 

“I’ll be sure to do so right away.” His mother smiled at him, Sam thought she was happy seeing him take up a position of command.

Though he certainly was no soldier or gruff man like his father, he was able to lead. He gave commands, though in a gentle voice. He built camaraderie, though with an open hand and a kind tone. He would use love, not fear, to win over the loyalty of his fellow Reachmen. Sam was no criminal, he was forced into the Night’s Watch. Without being in the Night’s Watch, he wouldn’t have wanted to be in the Citadel. He wanted a wife, he wanted children, he wanted to be Lord Tarly. Now that was possible, though it was less possible with a tyrant on the throne, one who had killed the last Lord Tarly.

Another document in his chest drifted to his mind. The one about curing Greyscale. It was the one thing that made him question maesterhood and whether or not he truly wanted to carry on with his studies. The citadel would have to take him back no matter what king or queen ruled after the council, it was a matter of if he would take them back that he wasn’t certain of. It would mean the same vows as the Night’s Watch all over again. He thought of Jon Tarly, inside of Gilly’s belly. He thought of Jorah, who he had given a second chance at life. It was almost impossible to decide. He was having Horn Hill’s maester make copies of the documents, though he hoped that the next man had as certain of hands as Sam had that night in the Citadel.

Gilly and the baby had fallen fast asleep in the bed that had been laid out for him as Lord Tarly. They were working around it to make his tent and the rest were working on the other tents. The green fabrics were billowing in the wind, and Sam could see small bits of ash floating along the cold air. 

“I’ll be going to meet with the Starks, if you’d excuse me.” He began to walk, kissing his mother on her cheek and making his way out of the campsite. 

The Stark encampment was at the edge of Visenya’s hill, right where it began to slope and the path lay. Direwolves raced in the wind above Sam’s head as he walked through to the largest, where he knew Sansa would be. He clutched the papers in his cloak a bit tighter. The guards at the entrance let him through when he identified himself and showed he had no weapons. Inside, Sansa was there indeed, huddled over a table with what could have been maps or papers for all he knew, though she wasn’t with her brother and sister as he thought, but with other men of the North. He recognized them from the short time he spent at Winterfell and from the battle. Some he didn’t know, however.

“Lord Tarly, it’s good to see you. Jon isn’t here, I’m afraid, but if there is anything I can be of assistance with, you are a friend of my family.” She smiled in her quietly regal way.

“That’s quite alright, I was looking for you actually. There is something you can help me with. Would you mind if your lords left? Or would you rather they stay?” He pulled the parchments from his cloak as he spoke the last question.

She took a moment, her eyes studying the parchment as though it would reveal itself.

“I’ll speak with you later, my lords, I thank you for your time.” They all bowed, spoke their courtesies and filed out of the room. “Now what is this you’ve brought to me?”

“These are transcripts from the High Septon’s diary. I studied these documents at Oldtown, my lady. They speak of an annulment made for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and a marriage of him to Lyanna Stark on the same day.” He hoped that she knew what he was implying, saying it would be too dangerous.

“You know about Jon.” It wasn’t a question, she looked into his eyes and she knew. “This means that there is proof of the marriage, proof of his identity. His claim”

“There is.”  _ Thank the gods _ , Sam thought to himself, swallowing deeply. “You know what we must do at this council?”

“I do.” She held out her hand, and Sam gave over the documents, knowing that this was no longer his weapon to wield. “Thank you for your loyalty to my family, Samwell Tarly, I will never forget it.”

“I do have one more favor, my lady.”

Sam left the tent with that, and felt as though his stomach was in his chest. He threw up in two different bushes on his way back to his tent. His head spun and a throbbing had crept upon him. Those were only copies, Sam still had the originals and he would have to do this again tonight. Sansa would be coming to the meeting tonight, and he hoped desperately that she would do most of the talking. 

Gilly greeted him in bed when he returned, pressing against him and warming him up as she had done for what felt like forever now. The sun was still in the sky when he laid to sleep, and the moon had nearly fully risen when he awoke. He rushed to ready himself, out of breath and still dazed from sleep. He felt even worse for wear as he approached Lord Hightower’s tent. The grand pavilion loomed above him and only worsened his dizziness. Inside, they all sat around a table already, eating and drinking and speaking and feasting. Lords Hightower, Redwyne, Manderly, and many more from the Reach, Stormlands, and North sat around Sansa. They stopped when he entered and looked to him.

“You’re late, my lord, I hope you’re feeling well, I’ve heard that you were ill from one of my cupbearers.” Lord Manderly spoke. 

“Thank you, my lord, I believe it’s the smell of the city.” That got a laugh out of all of them and soon the tension was broken. “Would you mind filling me in on what we’re discussing?”

“This damned council tomorrow,” Lord Hightower didn’t seem pleased about the prospect. “The Dragon Queen thinks she can reign over us all with fire and blood, Westeros is on the verge of splitting at the Neck, we’re a dying country.” 

“No, my lords, we are not.” Sansa stepped forward and brought out a piece of parchment that Sam knew all too well. “There is still one last chance for Westeros.” 

  
  



End file.
